j£ 


A  Dreamers  Tales 


WE   WOULD    GALLOP  THROUGH   AFRICA 


A 
Dreamer's  Tales 


BY 

Lord  Dunsany 


ITitk  Illustrations  If 

&  H.  SIME 


BOSTON 
JOHN  W    LUCE  &  COMPANY 


Preface 

I  HOPE  for  this  book  that  it  may  come  into 
the  hands  of  those  that  were  kind  to  my 
others  and  that  it  may  not  disappoint  them. 


2077758 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Saturday  Review  my 
thanks  are  due  for  permission  to  republish 
here  those  of  the  following  tales  which 
have  appeared  in  his  columns,  and,  more 
than  that,  for  the  opportunity  afforded  me 
by  his  review  of  reaching  a  wider  public 
than  my  books  have  attained  to  yet. 


Contents 

PAGE 

POLTARNEES,  BEHOLDER  OF  OCEAN          .  1 

BLAGDAROSS 23 

THE  MADNESS  OF  ANDELSPRUTZ        .       .  32 

WHERE  THE  TIDES  EBB  AND  FLOW.       .  40 

BETHMOORA 50 

IDLE  DAYS  ON  THE  YANN    ....  59 

THE  SWORD  AND  THE  IDOL         ...  93 

THE  IDLE  CITY 105 

THE  HASHISH  MAN 116 

POOR  OLD  BILL     .       .       .       .       .       .  127 

THE  BEGGARS 138 

CARCASSONNE 144 

IN  ZACCARATH      .       .       .    \  .       .       .  168 

THE  FIELD     .       .'"     .       .       .       .       .  175 
THE  DAY  OF  THE  POLL       .              .       .182 

THE  UNHAPPY  BODY  188 


Poltarnees, 

Beholder  of  Ocean 


oldees,Mondath,Arizim,  these 
are  the  Inner  Lands,  the  lands 
whose  sentinels  upon  their 
borders  do  not  behold  the 
sea.  Beyond  them  to  the  east 
there  lies  a  desert,  for  ever  untroubled  by 
man:  all  yellow  it  is,  and  spotted  with 
shadows  of  stones,  and  Death  is  in  it,  like 
a  leopard  lying  in  the  sun.  To  the  south 
they  are  bounded  by  magic,  to  the  west  by 
a  mountain,  and  to  the  north  by  the  voice 
and  anger  of  the  Polar  wind.  Like  a  great 
wall  is  the  mountain  to  the  west.  It  comes 
up  out  of  the  distance  and  goes  down  into 
the  distance  again,  and  it  is  named  Poltar- 
nees, Beholder  of  Ocean.  To  the  northward 
red  rocks,  smooth  and  bare  of  soil,  and 
without  any  speck  of  moss  or  herbage,  slope 
up  to  the  very  lips  of  the  Polar  wind,  and 
there  is  nothing  else  there  but  the  noise  of 

l 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

his  anger.  Very  peaceful  are  the  Inner 
Lands,  and  very  fair  are  their  cities,  and 
there  is  no  war  among  them,  but  quiet  and 
ease.  And  they  have  no  enemy  but  age, 
for  thirst  and  fever  lie  sunning  themselves 
out  in  the  mid-desert,  and  never  prowl  into 
the  Inner  Lands.  And  the  ghouls  and 
ghosts,  whose  highway  is  the  night,  are  kept 
in  the  south  by  the  boundary  of  magic. 
And  very  small  are  all  their  pleasant  cities, 
and  all  men  are  known  to  one  another 
therein,  and  bless  one  another  by  name  as 
they  meet  in  the  streets.  And  they  have  a 
broad,  green  way  in  every  city  that  comes 
in  out  of  some  vale  or  wood  or  downland, 
and  wanders  in  and  out  about  the  city  be- 
tween the  houses  and  across  the  streets; 
and  the  people  walk  along  it  never  at  all, 
but  every  year  at  her  appointed  time  Spring 
walks  along  it  from  the  flowery  lands, 
causing  the  anemone  to  bloom  on  the  green 
way  and  all  the  early  joys  of  hidden  woods, 
or  deep,  secluded  vales,  or  triumphant 
downlands,  whose  heads  lift  up  so  proudly, 
far  up  aloof  from  cities. 

Sometimes  waggoners  or  shepherds  walk 
along  this  way,  they  that  have  come  into 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

the  city  from  over  cloudy  ridges,  and  the 
townsmen  hinder  them  not,  for  there  is  a 
tread  that  troubleth  the  grass  and  a  tread 
that  troubleth  it  not,  and  each  man  in  his 
own  heart  knoweth  which  tread  he  hath. 
And  in  the  sunlit  spaces  of  the  weald  and 
in  the  wold's  dark  places,  afar  from  the 
music  of  cities  and  from  the  dance  of  the 
cities  afar,  they  make  there  the  music  of 
the  country  places  and  dance  the  country 
dance.  Amiable,  near  and  friendly  appears 
to  these  men  the  sun,  and  as  he  is  genial  to 
them  and  tends  their  younger  vines,  so  they 
are  kind  to  the  little  woodland  things  and 
any  rumour  of  the  fairies  or  old  legend. 
And  when  the  light  of  some  little  distant 
city  makes  a  slight  flush  upon  the  edge  of 
the  sky,  and  the  happy  golden  windows  of 
the  homesteads  stare  gleaming  into  the  dark, 
then  the  old  and  holy  figure  of  Romance, 
cloaked  even  to  the  face,  comes  down  out 
of  hilly  woodlands  and  bids  dark  shadows 
to  rise  and  dance,  and  sends  the  forest 
creatures  forth  to  prowl,  and  lights  in  a 
moment  in  her  bower  of  grass  the  little  glow- 
worm's lamp,  and  brings  a  hush  down  over 
the  grey  lands,  and  out  of  it  rises  faintly  on 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

far-off  hills  the  voice  of  a  lute.  There  are 
not  in  the  world  lands  more  prosperous  and 
happy  than  Toldees,  Mondath,  Arizim. 

From  these  three  little  kingdoms  that  are 
named  the  Inner  Lands  the  young  men  stole 
constantly  away.  One  by  one  they  went, 
and  no  one  knew  why  they  went  save  that 
they  had  a  longing  to  behold  the  Sea.  Of 
this  longing  they  spoke  little,  but  a  young 
man  would  become  silent  for  a  few  days, 
and  then,  one  morning  very  early,  he  would 
slip  away  and  slowly  climb  Poltarnees's 
difficult  slope,  and  having  attained  the  top 
pass  over  and  never  return.  A  few  stayed 
behind  in  the  Inner  Lands  and  became  old 
men,  but  none  that  had  ever  climbed  Pol- 
tarnees  from  the  very  earliest  times  had  ever 
come  back  again.  Many  had  gone  up  Pol- 
tarnees  sworn  to  return.  Once  a  king  sent 
all  his  courtiers,  one  by  one,  to  report  the 
mystery  to  him,  and  then  went  himself; 
none  ever  returned. 

Now,  it  was  the  wont  of  the  folk  of  the 
Inner  Lands  to  worship  rumours  and  legends 
of  the  Sea,  and  all  that  their  prophets  dis- 
covered of  the  Sea  was  writ  in  a  sacred  book, 
and  with  deep  devotion  on  days  of  festival  or 


ROMANCE   COMES   DOWN    OUT   OF   HILLY   WOODLANDS 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

mourning  read  in  the  temples  by  the  priests. 
Now,  all  their  temples  lay  open  to  the  west, 
resting  upon  pillars,  that  the  breeze  from  the 
Sea  might  enter  them,  and  they  lay  open  on 
pillars  to  the  east  that  the  breezes  of  the 
Sea  might  not  be  hindered  but  pass  onward 
wherever  the  Sea  list.  And  this  is  the  legend 
that  they  had  of  the  Sea,  whom  none  in  the 
Inner  Lands  had  ever  beholden.  They  say 
that  the  Sea  is  a  river  heading  towards  Her- 
cules, and  they  say  that  he  touches  against 
the  edge  of  the  world,  and  that  Poltarnees 
looks  upon  him.  They  say  that  all  the 
worlds  of  heaven  go  bobbing  on  this  river 
and  are  swept  down  with  the  stream,  and 
that  Infinity  is  thick  and  furry  with  forests 
through  which  the  river  in  his  course  sweeps 
on  with  all  the  worlds  of  heaven.  Among 
the  colossal  trunks  of  those  dark  trees,  the 
smallest  fronds  of  whose  branches  are  many 
nights,  there  walk  the  gods.  And  whenever 
its  thirst,  glowing  in  space  like  a  great  sun, 
comes  upon  the  beast,  the  tiger  of  the  gods 
creeps  down  to  the  river  to  drink.  And  the 
tiger  of  the  gods  drinks  his  fill  loudly,  whelm- 
ing worlds  the  while,  and  the  level  of  the 
river  sinks  between  its  banks  ere  the  beast's 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

thirst  is  quenched  and  ceases  to  glow  like  a 
sun.  And  many  worlds  thereby  are  heaped 
up  dry  and  stranded,  and  the  gods  walk 
not  among  them  evermore,  because  they 
are  hard  to  their  feet.  These  are  the  worlds 
that  have  no  destiny,  whose  people  know 
no  god.  And  the  river  sweeps  onwards  ever. 
And  the  name  of  the  river  is  Oriathon,  but 
men  call  it  Ocean.  This  is  the  Lower  Faith 
of  the  Inner  Lands.  And  there  is  a  Higher 
Faith  which  is  not  told  to  all.  According  to 
the  Higher  Faith  of  the  Inner  Lands  the 
river  Oriathon  sweeps  on  through  the  forests 
of  Infinity  and  all  at  once  falls  roaring  over 
an  Edge,  whence  Time  has  long  ago  recalled 
his  hours  to  fight  in  his  war  with  the  gods; 
and  falls  unlit  by  the  flash  of  nights  and 
days,  with  his  flood  unmeasured  by  miles, 
into  the  deeps  of  nothing. 

Now  as  the  centuries  went  by  and  the  one 
way  by  which  a  man  could  climb  Poltarnees 
became  worn  with  feet,  more  and  more  men 
surmounted  it,  not  to  return.  And  still  they 
knew  not  in  the  Inner  Lands  upon  what 
mystery  Poltarnees  looked.  For  on  a  still 
day  and  windless,  while  men  walked  happily 
about  their  beautiful  streets  or  tended  flocks 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

in  the  country,  suddenly  the  west  wind 
would  bestir  himself  and  come  in  from  the 
Sea.  And  he  would  come  cloaked  and  grey 
and  mournful  and  carry  to  someone  the 
hungry  cry  of  the  Sea  calling  out  for  bones 
of  men.  And  he  that  heard  it  would  move 
restlessly  for  some  hours,  and  at  last  would 
rise  suddenly,  irresistibly  up,  setting  his 
face  to  Poltarnees,  and  would  say,  as  is  the 
custom  of  those  lands  when  men  part 
briefly,  "Till  a  man's  heart  remembereth," 
which  means  "Farewell  for  a  while;"  but 
those  that  loved  him,  seeing  his  eyes  on 
Poltarnees,  would  answer  sadly,  "Till  the 
gods  forget,"  which  means  "Farewell." 

Now  the  King  of  Arizim  had  a  daughter 
who  played  with  the  wild  wood  flowers, 
and  with  the  fountains  in  her  father's  court, 
and  with  the  little  blue  heaven-birds  that 
came  to  her  doorway  in  the  winter  to  shelter 
from  the  snow.  And  she  was  more  beauti- 
ful than  the  wild  wood  flowers,  or  than  all 
the  fountains  in  her  father's  court,  or  than 
the  blue  heaven-birds  in  their  full  winter 
plumage  when  they  shelter  from  the  snow. 
The  old  wise  kings  of  Mondath  and  of 
Toldees  saw  her  once  as  she  went  lightly 

7 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

down  the  little  paths  of  her  garden,  and, 
turning  their  gaze  into  the  mists  of  thought, 
pondered  the  destiny  of  their  Inner  Lands. 
And  they  watched  her  closely  by  the  stately 
flowers,  and  standing  alone  in  the  sunlight, 
and  passing  and  repassing  the  strutting 
purple  birds  that  the  king's  fowlers  had 
brought  from  Asagehon.  When  she  was  of 
the  age  of  fifteen  years  the  King  of  Mon- 
dath  called  a  council  of  kings.  And  there 
met  with  him  the  kings  of  Toldees  and 
Arizim.  And  the  King  of  Mondath  in  his 
Council  said : 

"The  call  of  the  unappeased  and  hungry 
Sea  (and  at  the  word  'Sea'  the  three  kings 
bowed  their  heads)  lures  every  year  out  of 
our  happy  kingdoms  more  and  more  of  our 
men,  and  still  we  know  not  the  mystery  of 
the  Sea,  and  no  devised  oath  has  brought 
one  man  back.  Now  thy  daughter,  Arizim, 
is  lovelier  than  the  sunlight,  and  lovelier 
than  those  stately  flowers  of  thine  that 
stand  so  tall  in  her  garden,  and  hath  more 
grace  and  beauty  than  those  strange  birds 
that  the  venturous  fowlers  bring  in  creaking 
waggons  out  of  Asagehon,  whose  feathers 
are  alternate  purple  and  white.  Now,  he 

8 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

that  shall  love  thy  daughter,  Hilnaric,  who- 
ever he  shall  be,  is  the  man  to  climb  Pol- 
tarnees  and  return,  as  none  hath  ever  be- 
fore, and  tell  us  upon  what  Poltarnees 
looks;  for  it  may  be  that  thy  daughter  is 
more  beautiful  than  the  Sea." 

Then  from  his  Seat  of  Council  arose  the 
King  of  Arizim.  He  said:  "I  fear  that 
thou  hast  spoken  blasphemy  against  the 
Sea,  and  I  have  a  dread  that  ill  will  come  of 
it.  Indeed  I  had  not  thought  she  was  so 
fair.  It  is  such  a  short  while  ago  that  she 
was  quite  a  small  child  with  her  hair  still 
unkempt  and  not  yet  attired  in  the  manner 
of  princesses,  and  she  would  go  up  into  the 
wild  woods  unattended  and  come  back  with 
her  robes  unseemly  and  all  torn,  and  would 
not  take  reproof  with  humble  spirit,  but 
made  grimaces  even  in  my  marble  court  all 
set  about  with  fountains." 
Then  said  the  King  of  Toldees: 
"Let  us  watch  more  closely  and  let  us 
see  the  Princess  Hilnaric  in  the  season  of 
the  orchard-bloom  when  the  great  birds  go 
by  that  know  the  Sea,  to  rest  in  our  inland 
places;  and  if  she  be  more  beautiful  than 
the  sunrise  over  our  folded  kingdoms  when 

9 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

all  the  orchards  bloom,  it  may  be  that  she 
is  more  beautiful  than  the  Sea." 

And  the  King  of  Arizim  said : 

"I  fear  this  is  terrible  blasphemy, 
yet  will  I  do  as  you  have  decided  in 
council." 

And  the  season  of  the  orchard-bloom  ap- 
peared. One  night  the  King  of  Arizim  called 
his  daughter  forth  on  to  his  outer  bal- 
cony of  marble.  And  the  moon  was  rising 
huge  and  round  and  holy  over  dark  woods, 
and  all  the  fountains  were  singing  to  the 
night.  And  the  moon  touched  the  marble 
palace  gables,  and  they  glowed  in  the  land. 
And  the  moon  touched  the  heads  of  all  the 
fountains,  and  the  grey  columns  broke  into 
fairy  lights.  And  the  moon  left  the  dark 
ways  of  the  forest  and  lit  the  whole  white 
palace  and  its  fountains  and  shone  on  the 
forehead  of  the  Princess,  and  the  palace 
of  Arizim  glowed  afar,  and  the  fountains 
became  columns  of  gleaming  jewels  and 
song.  And  the  moon  made  a  music  at  his 
rising,  but  it  fell  a  little  short  of  mortal  ears. 
And  Hilnaric  stood  there  wondering,  clad  in 
white,  with  the  moonlight  shining  on  her 
forehead;  and  watching  her  from  the  shad- 

10 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

ows  on  the  terrace  stood  the  kings  of  Mon- 
dath  and  Toldees.    They  said : 
"She  is  more  beautiful  than  the  moon- 


rise." 


And  on  another  day  the  King  of  Arizim 
bade  his  daughter  forth  at  dawn,  and  they 
stood  again  upon  the  balcony.  And  the  sun 
came  up  over  a  world  of  orchards,  and  the 
sea-mists  went  back  over  Poltarnees  to  the 
Sea;  little  wild  voices  arose  in  all  the  thick- 
ets, the  voices  of  the  fountains  began  to 
die,  and  the  song  arose,  in  all  the  marble 
temples,  of  the  birds  that  are  sacred  to  the 
Sea.  And  Hilnaric  stood  there,  still  glowing 
with  dreams  of  heaven. 

"She  is  more  beautiful,"  said  the  kings, 
"than  morning." 

Yet  one  more  trial  they  made  of  Hil- 
naric's  beauty,  for  they  watched  her  on 
the  terraces  at  sunset  ere  yet  the  petals  of 
the  orchards  had  fallen,  and  all  along  the 
edge  of  neighbouring  woods  the  rhododen- 
dron was  blooming  with  the  azalea.  And 
the  sun  went  down  under  craggy  Poltar- 
nees, and  the  sea-mist  poured  over  his 
summit  inland.  And  the  marble  temples 
stood  up  clear  in  the  evening,  but  films  of 

11 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

twilight  were  drawn  between  the  mountain 
and  the  city.  Then  from  the  Temple  ledges 
and  eaves  of  palaces  the  bats  fell  headlong 
downwards,  then  spread  their  wings  and 
floated  up  and  down  through  darkening 
ways;  lights  came  blinking  out  in  golden 
windows,  men  cloaked  themselves  against 
the  grey  sea-mist,  the  sound  of  small  songs 
arose,  and  the  face  of  Hilnaric  became  a 
resting-place  for  mysteries  and  dreams. 

"Than  all  these  things,"  said  the  kings, 
"she  is  more  lovely:  but  who  can  say 
whether  she  is  lovelier  than  the  Sea?" 

Prone  in  a  rhododendron  thicket  at  the 
edge  of  the  palace  lawns  a  hunter  had  waited 
since  the  sun  went  down.  Near  to  him  was 
a  deep  pool  where  the  hyacinths  grew  and 
strange  flowers  floated  upon  it  with  broad 
leaves,  and  there  the  great  bull  gariachs 
came  down  to  drink  by  starlight,  and,  wait- 
ing there  for  the  gariachs  to  come,  he  saw 
the  white  form  of  the  Princess  leaning  on  her 
balcony.  Before  the  stars  shone  out  or  the 
bulls  came  down  to  drink  he  left  his  lurking- 
place  and  moved  closer  to  the  palace  to  see 
more  nearly  the  Princess.  The  palace  lawns 
were  full  of  untrodden  dew,  and  every- 

12 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

thing  was  still  when  he  came  across  them, 
holding  his  great  spear.  In  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  terraces  the  three  old  kings 
were  discussing  the  beauty  of  Hilnaric  and 
the  destiny  of  the  Inner  Lands.  Moving 
lightly,  with  a  hunter's  tread,  the  watcher 
by  the  pool  came  very  near,  even  in  the  still 
evening,  before  the  Princess  saw  him. 
When  he  saw  her  closely  he  exclaimed  sud- 
denly: 

"She  must  be  more  beautiful  than  the 
Sea." 

When  the  Princess  turned  and  saw  his 
garb  and  his  great  spear  she  knew  that  he 
was  a  hunter  of  gariachs. 

When  the  three  kings  heard  the  young 
man  exclaim  they  said  softly  to  one  an- 
other: 

"This  must  be  the  man." 

Then  they  revealed  themselves  to  him, 
and  spoke  to  him  to  try  him.  They  said : 

"Sir,  you  have  spoken  blasphemy  against 
the  Sea." 

And  the  young  man  muttered : 

"She  is  more  beautiful  than  the  Sea." 

And  the  kings  said : 

"We  are  older  than  you  and  wiser,  and 

13 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

know  that  nothing  is  more  beautiful  than 
the  Sea." 

And  the  young  man  took  off  the  gear  of 
his  head,  and  became  downcast,  and  knew 
that  he  spake  with  kings,  yet  he  answered : 

"By  this  spear,  she  is  more  beautiful 
than  the  Sea." 

And  all  the  while  the  Princess  stared  at 
him,  knowing  him  to  be  a  hunter  of  gariachs. 

Then  the  King  of  Arizim  said  to  the 
watcher  by  the  pool: 

"If  thou  wilt  go  up  Poltarnees  and  come 
back,  as  none  have  come,  and  report  to  us 
what  lure  or  magic  is  in  the  Sea,  we  will 
pardon  thy  blasphemy,  and  thou  shalt  have 
the  Princess  to  wife  and  sit  among  the 
Council  of  the  Kings." 

And  gladly  thereunto  the  young  man 
consented.  And  the  Princess  spoke  to  him, 
and  asked  him  his  name.  And  he  told  her 
that  his  name  was  Athelvok,  and  great  joy 
arose  in  him  at  the  sound  of  her  voice.  And 
to  the  three  kings  he  promised  to  set  out  on 
the  third  day  to  scale  the  slope  of  Poltarnees 
and  to  return  again,  and  this  was  the  oath 
by  which  they  bound  him  to  return : 

"  I  swear  by  the  Sea  that  bears  the  worlds 

14 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

away,  by  the  river  of  Oriathon,  which 
men  call  Ocean,  and  by  the  gods  and  their 
tiger,  and  by  the  doom  of  the  worlds,  that 
I  will  return  again  to  the  Inner  Lands, 
having  beheld  the  Sea." 

And  that  oath  he  swore  with  solemnity 
that  very  night  in  one  of  the  temples  of  the 
Sea,  but  the  three  kings  trusted  more  to 
the  beauty  of  Hilnaric  even  than  to  the 
power  of  the  oath. 

The  next  day  Athelvok  came  to  the 
palace  of  Arizim  with  the  morning,  over 
the  fields  to  the  East  and  out  of  the  country 
of  Toldees,  and  Hilnaric  came  out  along 
her  balcony  and  met  him  on  the  terraces. 
And  she  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  slain  a 
gariach,  and  he  said  that  he  had  slain  three, 
and  then  he  told  her  how  he  had  killed  his 
first  down  by  the  pool  in  the  wood.  For 
he  had  taken  his  father's  spear  and  gone 
down  to  the  edge  of  the  pool,  and  had  lain 
under  the  azaleas  there  waiting  for  the  stars 
to  shine,  by  whose  first  light  the  gariachs 
go  to  the  pools  to  drink;  and  he  had  gone 
too  early  and  had  had  long  to  wait,  and  the 
passing  hours  seemed  longer  than  they  were. 
And  all  the  birds  came  in  that  home  at 

15 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

night,  and  the  bat  was  abroad,  and  the 
hour  of  the  duck  went  by,  and  still  no 
gariach  came  down  to  the  pool;  and  Athel- 
vok  felt  sure  that  none  would  come.  And 
just  as  this  grew  to  a  certainty  in  his  mind 
the  thicket  parted  noiselessly  and  a  huge 
bull  gariach  stood  facing  him  on  the  edge 
of  the  water,  and  his  great  horns  swept  out 
sideways  from  his  head,  and  at  the  ends 
curved  upwards,  and  were  four  strides  in 
width  from  tip  to  tip.  And  he  had  not  seen 
Athelvok,  for  the  great  bull  was  on  the  far 
side  of  the  little  pool,  and  Athelvok  could 
not  creep  round  to  him  for  fear  of  meeting 
the  wind  (for  the  gariachs,  who  can  see 
little  in  the  dark  forests,  rely  on  hearing  and 
smell).  But  he  devised  swiftly  in  his  mind 
while  the  bull  stood  there  with  head  erect 
just  twenty  strides  from  him  across  the 
water.  And  the  bull  sniffed  the  wind  cau- 
tiously and  listened,  then  lowered  its  great 
head  down  to  the  pool  and  drank.  At  that 
instant  Athelvok  leapt  into  the  water  and 
shot  forward  through  its  weedy  depths 
among  the  stems  of  the  strange  flowers 
that  floated  upon  broad  leaves  on  the  sur- 
face. And  Athelvok  kept  his  spear  out 

16 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

straight  before  him,  and  the  fingers  of  his 
left  hand  he  held  rigid  and  straight,  not 
pointing  upwards,  and  so  did  not  come  to 
the  surface,  but  was  carried  onward  by  the 
strength  of  his  spring  and  passed  unentang- 
led  through  the  stems  of  the  flowers.  When 
Athelvok  jumped  into  the  water  the  bull 
must  have  thrown  his  head  up,  startled  at 
the  splash,  then  he  would  have  listened  and 
have  sniffed  the  air,  and  neither  hearing 
nor  scenting  any  danger  he  must  have  re- 
mained rigid  for  some  moments,  for  it  was 
in  that  attitude  that  Athelvok  found  him 
as  he  emerged  breathless  at  his  feet.  And, 
striking  at  once,  Athelvok  drove  the  spear 
into  his  throat  before  the  head  and  the 
terrible  horns  came  down.  But  Athelvok 
had  clung  to  one  of  the  great  horns,  and 
had  been  carried  at  terrible  speed  through 
the  rhodendron  bushes  until  the  gariach 
fell,  but  rose  at  once  again,  and  died  stand- 
ing up,  still  struggling,  drowned  in  its  own 
blood. 

But  to  Hilnaric  listening  it  was  as  though 
one  of  the  heroes  of  old  time  had  come  back 
again  in  the  full  glory  of  his  legendary  youth. 

And  long  time  they  went  up  and  down 
17 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

the  terraces,  saying  those  things  which 
were  said  before  and  since,  and  which  lips 
shall  yet  be  made  to  say  again.  And  above 
them  stood  Poltarnees  beholding  the  Sea. 

And  the  day  came  when  Athelvok  should 
go.  And  Hilnaric  said  to  him: 

"Will  you  not  indeed  most  surely  come 
back  again,  having  just  looked  over  the 
summit  of  Poltarnees?" 

Athelvok  answered:  "I  will  indeed  come 
back,  for  thy  voice  is  more  beautiful  than 
the  hymn  of  the  priests  when  they  chant 
and  praise  the  Sea,  and  though  many  tribu- 
tary seas  ran  down  into  Oriathon  and  he 
and  all  the  others  poured  their  beauty  into 
one  pool  below  me,  yet  would  I  return 
swearing  that  thou  wert  fairer  than  they." 

And  Hilnaric  answered: 

"The  wisdom  of  my  heart  tells  me,  or 
old  knowledge  or  prophecy,  or  some  strange 
lore,  that  I  shall  never  hear  thy  voice  again. 
And  for  this  I  give  thee  my  forgiveness." 

But  he,  repeating  the  oath  that  he  had 
sworn,  set  out,  looking  often  backwards 
until  the  slope  became  too  steep  and  his 
face  was  set  to  the  rock.  It  was  in  the 
morning  that  he  started,  and  he  climbed  all 

18 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

the  day  with  little  rest,  where  every  foot- 
hole  was  smooth  with  many  feet.  Before 
he  reached  the  top  the  sun  disappeared 
from  him,  and  darker  and  darker  grew  the 
Inner  Lands.  Then  he  pushed  on  so  as  to 
see  before  dark  whatever  thing  Poltarnees 
had  to  show.  The  dusk  was  deep  over  the 
Inner  Lands,  and  the  lights  of  cities  twin- 
kled through  the  sea-mist  when  he  came  to 
Poltarnees's  summit,  and  the  sun  before 
him  was  not  yet  gone  from  the  sky. 

And  there  below  him  was  the  old  wrinkled 
Sea,  smiling  and  murmuring  song.  And  he 
nursed  little  ships  with  gleaming  sails,  and 
in  his  hands  were  old  regretted  wrecks,  and 
masts  all  studded  over  with  golden  nails 
that  he  had  rent  in  anger  out  of  beautiful 
galleons.  And  the  glory  of  the  sun  was 
among  the  surges  as  they  brought  driftwood 
out  of  isles  of  spice,  tossing  their  golden 
heads.  And  the  grey  currents  crept  away 
to  the  south  like  companionless  serpents 
that  love  something  afar  with  a  restless, 
deadly  love.  And  the  whole  plain  of  water 
glittering  with  late  sunlight,  and  the  surges 
and  the  currents  and  the  white  sails  of  ships 
were  all  together  like  the  face  of  a  strange 

19 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

new  god  that  has  looked  a  man  for  the  first 
time  in  the  eyes  at  the  moment  of  his  death ; 
and  Athelvok,  looking  on  the  wonderful 
Sea,  knew  why  it  was  that  the  dead  never 
return,  for  there  is  something  that  the  dead 
feel  and  know,  and  the  living  would  never 
understand  even  though  the  dead  should 
come  and  speak  to  them  about  it.  And 
there  was  the  Sea  smiling  at  him,  glad  with 
the  glory  of  the  sun.  And  there  was  a 
haven  there  for  homing  ships,  and  a  sunlit 
city  stood  upon  its  marge,  and  people 
walked  about  the  streets  of  it  clad  in  the  un- 
imagined  merchandise  of  far  sea-bordering 
lands. 

An  easy  slope  of  loose  crumbled  rock 
went  from  the  top  of  Poltarnees  to  the 
shore  of  the  Sea. 

For  a  long  while  Athelvok  stood  there 
regretfully,  knowing  that  there  had  come 
something  into  his  soul  that  no  one  in  the 
Inner  Lands  could  understand,  where  the 
thoughts  of  their  minds  had  gone  no  farther 
than  the  three  little  kingdoms.  Then,  look- 
ing long  upon  the  wandering  ships,  and  the 
marvellous  merchandise  from  alien  lands, 
and  the  unknown  colour  that  wreathed  the 

20 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

brows  of  the  Sea,  he  turned  his  face  to  the 
darkness  and  the  Inner  Lands. 

At  that  moment  the  Sea  sang  a  dirge  at 
sunset  for  all  the  harm  that  he  had  done  in 
anger  and  all  the  ruin  wrought  on  adventur- 
ous ships;  and  there  were  tears  in  the 
voice  of  the  tyrannous  Sea,  for  he  had 
loved  the  galleons  that  he  had  overwhelmed, 
and  he  called  all  men  to  him  and  all  living 
things  that  he  might  make  amends,  be- 
cause he  had  loved  the  bones  that  he  had 
strewn  afar.  And  Athelvok  turned  and  set 
one  foot  upon  the  crumbled  slope,  and  then 
another,  and  walked  a  little  way  to  be 
nearer  to  the  Sea,  and  then  a  dream  came 
upon  him  and  he  felt  that  men  had  wronged 
the  lovely  Sea  because  he  had  been  angry 
a  little,  because  he  had  been  sometimes 
cruel;  he  felt  that  there  was  trouble  among 
the  tides  of  the  Sea  because  he  had  loved 
the  galleons  who  were  dead.  Still  he  walked 
on  and  the  crumbled  stones  rolled  with 
him,  and  just  as  the  twilight  faded  and  a 
star  appeared  he  came  to  the  golden  shore, 
and  walked  on  till  the  surges  were  about 
his  knees,  and  he  heard  the  prayer-like 
blessings  of  the  Sea.  Long  he  stood  thus, 

21 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

while  the  stars  came  out  above  him  and 
shone  again  in  the  surges;  more  stars  came 
wheeling  in  their  courses  up  from  the  Sea, 
lights  twinkled  out  through  all  the  haven 
city,  lanterns  were  slung  from  the  ships, 
the  purple  night  burned  on;  and  Earth,  to 
the  eyes  of  the  gods  as  they  sat  afar,  glowed 
as  with  one  flame.  Then  Athelvok  went 
into  the  haven  city;  there  he  met  many 
who  had  left  the  Inner  Lands  before  him; 
none  of  them  wished  to  return  to  the  people 
who  had  not  seen  the  Sea;  many  of  them 
had  forgotten  the  three  little  kingdoms,  and 
it  was  rumoured  that  one  man,  who  had 
once  tried  to  return,  had  found  the  shifting, 
crumbled  slope  impossible  to  climb. 

Hilnaric  never  married.  But  her  dowry 
was  set  aside  to  build  a  temple  wherein 
men  curse  the  ocean. 

Once  every  year,  with  solemn  rite  and 
ceremony,  they  curse  the  tides  of  the  Sea; 
and  the  moon  looks  in  and  hates  them. 


22 


Blagdaross 


n  a  waste  place  strewn  with 
bricks  in  the  outskirts  of  a 
town  twilight  was  falling.  A 
star  or  two  appeared  over  the 
smoke,  and  distant  windows 
lit  mysterious  lights.  The  stillness  deep- 
ened and  the  loneliness.  Then  all  the  out- 
cast things  that  are  silent  by  day  found 
voices. 

An  old  cork  spoke  first.  He  said:  "I 
grew  in  Andalusian  woods,  but  never  listen- 
ed to  the  idle  songs  of  Spain.  I  only  grew 
strong  in  the  sunlight  waiting  for  my 
destiny.  One  day  the  merchants  came  and 
took  us  all  away  and  carried  us  all  along 
the  shore  of  the  sea,  piled  high  on  the  backs 
of  donkeys,  and  in  a  town  by  the  sea  they 
made  me  into  the  shape  that  I  am  now. 
One  day  they  sent  me  northward  to  Prov- 
ence, and  there  I  fulfilled  my  destiny.  For 
they  set  me  as  a  guard  over  the  bubbling 

23 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

wine,  and  I  faithfully  stood  sentinel  for 
twenty  years.  For  the  first  few  years  in 
the  bottle  that  I  guarded  the  wine  slept, 
dreaming  of  Provence;  but  as  the  years 
went  on  he  grew  stronger  and  stronger, 
until  at  last  whenever  a  man  went  by  the 
wine  would  put  out  all  his  might  against 
me,  saying:  'Let  me  go  free;  let  me  go 
free!'  And  every  year  his  strength  in- 
creased, and  he  grew  more  clamorous  when 
men  went  by,  but  never  availed  to  hurl  me 
from  my  post.  But  when  I  had  powerfully 
held  him  for  twenty  years  they  brought 
him  to  the  banquet  and  took  me  from  my 
post,  and  the  wine  arose  rejoicing  and  leapt 
through  the  veins  of  men  and  exalted  their 
souls  within  them  till  they  stood  up  in  their 
places  and  sang  Proven£al  songs.  But  me 
they  cast  away — me  that  had  been  sentinel 
for  twenty  years,  and  was  still  as  strong 
and  staunch  as  when  first  I  went  on  guard. 
Now  I  am  an  outcast  in  a  cold  northern 
city,  who  once  have  known  the  Andalusian 
skies  and  guarded  long  ago  Proven£al  suns 
that  swam  in  the  heart  of  the  rejoicing 


wine." 


An  unstruck  match  that  somebody  had 

24 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

dropped  spoke  next.  "I  am  a  child  of  the 
sun,"  he  said,  "and  an  enemy  of  cities; 
there  is  more  in  my  heart  than  you  know  of. 
I  am  a  brother  of  Etna  and  Stromboli;  I 
have  fires  lurking  in  me  that  will  one  day 
rise  up  beautiful  and  strong.  We  will  not 
go  into  servitude  on  any  hearth  nor  work 
machines  for  our  food,  but  we  will  take  our 
own  food  where  we  find  it  on  that  day  when 
we  are  strong.  There  are  wonderful  child- 
ren in  my  heart  whose  faces  shall  be  more 
lively  than  the  rainbow;  they  shall  make  a 
compact  with  the  North  wind,  and  he  shall 
lead  them  forth;  all  shall  be  black  behind 
them  and  black  above  them,  and  there 
shall  be  nothing  beautiful  in  the  world  but 
them;  they  shall  seize  upon  the  earth  and 
it  shall  be  theirs,  and  nothing  shall  stop 
them  but  our  old  enemy  the  sea." 

Then  an  old  broken  kettle  spoke,  and 
said:  "I  am  the  friend  of  cities.  I  sit 
among  the  slaves  upon  the  hearth,  the  little 
flames  that  have  been  fed  with  coal.  When 
the  slaves  dance  behind  the  iron  bars  I  sit 
in  the  middle  of  the  dance  and  sing  and 
make  our  masters  glad.  And  I  make  songs 
about  the  comfort  of  the  cat,  and  about  the 

25 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

malice  that  is  towards  her  in  the  heart  of 
the  dog,  and  about  the  crawling  of  the 
baby,  and  about  the  ease  that  is  in  the  lord 
of  the  house  when  we  brew  the  good  brown 
tea;  and  sometimes  when  the  house  is  very 
warm  and  slaves  and  masters  are  glad,  I 
rebuke  the  hostile  winds  that  prowl  about 
the  world." 

And  then  there  spoke  the  piece  of  an  old 
cord.  "  I  was  made  in  a  place  of  doom,  and 
doomed  men  made  my  fibres,  working  with- 
out hope.  Therefore  there  came  a  grimness 
into  my  heart,  so  that  I  never  let  anything 
go  free  when  once  I  was  set  to  bind  it. 
Many  a  thing  have  I  bound  relentlessly 
for  months  and  for  years;  for  I  used  to 
come  coiling  into  warehouses  where  the 
great  boxes  lay  all  open  to  the  air,  and  one 
of  them  would  be  suddenly  closed  up,  and 
my  fearful  strength  would  be  set  on  him 
like  a  curse,  and  if  his  timbers  groaned 
when  first  I  seized  them,  or  if  they  creaked 
aloud  in  the  lonely  night,  thinking  of  wood- 
lands out  of  which  they  came,  then  I  only 
gripped  them  tighter  still,  for  the  poor 
useless  hate  is  in  my  soul  of  those  that 
made  me  in  the  place  of  doom.  Yet,  for  all 

26 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

the  things  that  my  prison-clutch  has  held, 
the  last  work  that  I  did  was  to  set 
something  free.  I  lay  idle  one  night  in  the 
gloom  on  the  warehouse  floor.  Nothing 
stirred  there,  and  even  the  spider  slept. 
Towards  midnight  a  great  flock  of  echoes 
suddenly  leapt  up  from  the  wooden  planks 
and  circled  round  the  roof.  A  man  was 
coming  towards  me  all  alone.  And  as  he 
came  his  soul  was  reproaching  him,  and  I 
saw  that  there  was  a  great  trouble  between 
the  man  and  his  soul,  for  his  soul  would  not 
let  him  be,  but  went  on  reproaching  him. 

"Then  the  man  saw  me  and  said,  'This 
at  least  will  not  fail  me.'  When  I  heard 
him  say  this  about  me,  I  determined  that 
whatever  he  might  require  of  me  it  should 
be  done  to  the  uttermost.  And  as  I  made 
this  determination  in  my  unaltering  heart, 
he  picked  me  up  and  stood  on  an  empty 
box  that  I  should  have  bound  on  the  mor- 
row, and  tied  one  end  of  me  to  a  dark 
rafter;  and  the  knot  was  carelessly  tied, 
because  his  soul  was  reproaching  him  all  the 
while  continually  and  giving  him  no  ease. 
Then  he  made  the  other  end  of  me  into  a 
noose,  but  when  the  man's  soul  saw  this  it 

27 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

stopped  reproaching  the  man,  and  cried  out 
to  him  hurriedly,  and  besought  him  to  be 
at  peace  with  it  and  to  do  nothing  sudden; 
but  the  man  went  on  with  his  work,  and 
put  the  noose  down  over  his  face  and 
underneath  his  chin,  and  the  soul  screamed 
horribly. 

"Then  the  man  kicked  the  box  away 
with  his  foot,  and  the  moment  he  did  this 
I  knew  that  my  strength  was  not  great 
enough  to  hold  him;  but  I  remembered 
that  he  had  said  I  would  not  fail  him,  and 
I  put  all  my  grim  vigour  into  my  fibres  and 
held  him  by  sheer  will.  Then  the  soul 
shouted  to  me  to  give  way,  but  I  said : 

"  'No-;  you  vexed  the  man.' 

"Then  it  screamed  to  me  to  leave  go  of 
the  rafter,  and  already  I  was  slipping,  for 
I  only  held  on  to  it  by  a  careless  knot,  but 
I  gripped  with  my  prison  grip  and  said : 

"  'You  vexed  the  man.' 

"And  very  swiftly  it  said  other  things  to 
me,  but  I  answered  not;  and  at  last  the 
soul  that  vexed  the  man  that  had  trusted 
me  flew  away  and  left  him  at  peace.  I 
was  never  able  to  bind  things  any  more, 
for  every  one  of  my  fibres  was  worn  and 

28 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

wrenched,  and  even  my  relentless  heart 
was  weakened  by  the  struggle.  Very  soon 
afterwards  I  was  thrown  out  here.  I  have 
done  my  work." 

So  they  spoke  among  themselves,  but  all 
the  while  there  loomed  above  them  the 
form  of  an  old  rocking-horse  complaining 
bitterly.  He  said:  "I  am  Blagdaross. 
Woe  is  me  that  I  should  lie  now  an  outcast 
among  these  worthy  but  little  people.  Alas! 
for  the  days  that  are  gathered,  and  alas 
for  the  Great  One  that  was  a  master  and 
a  soul  to  me,  whose  spirit  is  now  shrunken 
and  can  never  know  me  again,  and  no 
more  ride  abroad  on  knightly  quests.  I 
was  Bucephalus  when  he  was  Alexander, 
and  carried  him  victorious  as  far  as  Ind. 
I  encountered  dragons  with  him  when  he 
was  St.  George,  I  was  the  horse  of  Roland 
fighting  for  Christendom,  and  was  often 
Rosinante.  I  fought  in  tournays  and  went 
errant  upon  quests,  and  met  Ulysses  and 
the  heroes  and  the  fairies.  Or  late  in  the 
evening,  just  before  the  lamps  in  the  nurs- 
ery were  put  out,  he  would  suddenly  mount 
me,  and  we  would  gallop  through  Africa. 
There  we  would  pass  by  night  through 

29 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

tropic  forests,  and  come  upon  dark  rivers 
sweeping  by,  all  gleaming  with  the  eyes  of 
crocodiles,  where  the  hippopotamus  floated 
down  with  the  stream,  and  mysterious  craft 
loomed  suddenly  out  of  the  dark  and  fur- 
tively passed  away.  And  when  we  had 
passed  through  the  forest  lit  by  the  fire- 
flies we  would  come  to  the  open  plains,  and 
gallop  onwards  with  scarlet  flamingoes  fly- 
ing along  beside  us  through  the  lands  of 
dusky  kings,  with  golden  crowns  upon  their 
heads  and  sceptres  in  their  hands,  who 
came  running  out  of  their  palaces  to  see  us 
pass.  Then  I  would  wheel  suddenly,  and 
the  dust  flew  up  from  my  four  hoofs  as  I 
turned  and  we  galloped  home  again,  and 
my  master  was  put  to  bed.  And  again  he 
would  ride  abroad  on  another  day  till  we 
came  to  magical  fortresses  guarded  by 
wizardry  and  overthrew  the  dragons  at  the 
gate,  and  ever  came  back  with  a  princess 
fairer  than  the  sea. 

"But  my  master  began  to  grow  larger  in 
his  body  and  smaller  in  his  soul,  and  then 
he  rode  more  seldom  upon  quests.  At  last 
he  saw  gold  and  never  came  again,  and  I 
was  cast  out  here  among  these  little  people." 

30 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

But  while  the  rocking-horse  was  speaking 
two  boys  stole  away,  unnoticed  by  their 
parents,  from  a  house  on  the  edge  of  the 
waste  place,  and  were  coming  across  it  look- 
ing for  adventures.  One  of  them  carried  a 
broom,  and  when  he  saw  the  rocking-horse 
he  said  nothing,  but  broke  off  the  handle 
from  the  broom  and  thrust  it  between  his 
braces  and  his  shirt  on  the  left  side.  Then 
he  mounted  the  rocking-horse,  and  drawing 
forth  the  broomstick,  which  was  sharp  and 
spiky  at  the  end,  said,  "Saladin  is  in  this 
desert  with  all  his  paynims,  and  I  am  Coeur 
de  Lion."  After  a  while  the  other  boy  said: 
"Now  let  me  kill  Saladin  too."  But  Blag- 
daross  in  his  wooden  heart,  that  exulted 
with  thoughts  of  battle,  said:  "I  am 
Blagdaross  yet!" 


31 


The  Madness  of 
Andelsprutz 


first  saw  the  city  of  Andel- 
(sprutz  on  an  afternoon  in 
'spring.  The  day  was  full  of 
sunshine  as  I  came  by  the  way 
of  the  fields,  and  all  that 
morning  I  had  said,  "There  will  be  sun- 
light on  it  when  I  see  for  the  first  time  the 
beautiful  conquered  city  whose  fame  has 
so  often  made  for  me  lovely  dreams."  Sud- 
denly I  saw  its  fortifications  lifting  out  of 
the  fields,  and  behind  them  stood  its  bel- 
fries. I  went  in  by  a  gate  and  saw  its 
houses  and  streets,  and  a  great  disappoint- 
ment came  upon  me.  For  there  is  an  air 
about  a  city,  and  it  has  a  way  with  it,  where- 
by a  man  may  recognize  one  from  another 
at  once.  There  are  cities  full  of  happiness 
and  cities  full  of  pleasure,  and  cities  full  of 
gloom.  There  are  cities  with  their  faces  to 

32 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

heaven,  and  some  with  their  faces  to  earth; 
some  have  a  way  of  looking  at  the  past 
and  others  look  at  the  future;  some  notice 
you  if  you  come  among  them,  others  glance 
at  you,  others  let  you  go  by.  Some  love 
the  cities  that  are  their  neighbours,  others 
are  dear  to  the  plains  and  to  the  heath; 
some  cities  are  bare  to  the  wind,  others 
have  purple  cloaks  and  others  brown  cloaks, 
and  some  are  clad  in  white.  Some  tell  the 
old  tale  of  their  infancy,  with  others  it  is 
secret;  some  cities  sing  and  some  mutter, 
some  are  angry,  and  some  have  broken 
hearts,  and  each  city  has  her  way  of  greet- 
ing Time. 

I  had  said:  "I  will  see  Andelsprutz  arro- 
gant with  her  beauty,"  and  I  had  said:  "I 
will  see  her  weeping  over  her  conquest." 

I  had  said:  "She  will  sing  songs  to  me," 
and  "she  will  be  reticent,"  "she  will  be  all 
robed,"  and  "she  will  be  bare  but  splendid." 

But  the  windows  of  Andelsprutz  in  her 
houses  looked  vacantly  over  the  plains  like 
the  eyes  of  a  dead  madman.  At  the  hour 
her  chimes  sounded  unlovely  and  discord- 
ant, some  of  them  were  out  of  tune,  and 
the  bells  of  some  were  cracked,  her  roofs 

33 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

were  bald  and  without  moss.  At  evening 
no  pleasant  rumour  arose  in  her  streets. 
When  the  lamps  were  lit  in  the  houses  no 
mystical  flood  of  light  stole  out  into  the 
dusk,  you  merely  saw  that  there  were 
lighted  lamps;  Andelsprutz  had  no  way 
with  her  and  no  air  about  her.  When  the 
night  fell  and  the  blinds  were  all  drawn 
down,  then  I  perceived  what  I  had  not 
thought  in  the  daylight.  I  knew  then  that 
Andelsprutz  was  dead. 

I  saw  a  fair-haired  man  who  drank  beer 
in  a  cafe,  and  I  said  to  him: 

"Why  is  the  city  of  Andelsprutz  quite 
dead,  and  her  soul  gone  hence?" 

He  answered:  "Cities  do  not  have  souls 
and  there  is  never  any  life  in  bricks." 

And  I  said  to  him:  "Sir,  you  have 
spoken  truly." 

And  I  asked  the  same  question  of  another 
man,  and  he  gave  me  the  same  answer,  and 
I  thanked  him  for  his  courtesy.  And  I 
saw  a  man  of  a  more  slender  build,  who  had 
black  hair,  and  channels  in  his  cheeks  for 
tears  to  run  in,  and  I  said  to  him: 

"Why  is  Andelsprutz  quite  dead,  and 
when  did  her  soul  go 

34 


THE   SOUL,   OF  ANDELSPRUTZ 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

And  he  answered:  "Andelsprutz  hoped 
too  much.  For  thirty  years  would  she 
stretch  out  her  arms  toward  the  land  of 
Akla  every  night,  to  Mother  Akla  from 
whom  she  had  been  stolen.  Every  night 
she  would  be  hoping  and  sighing,  and 
stretching  out  her  arms  to  Mother  Akla. 
At  midnight,  once  a  year,  on  the  annivers- 
ary of  the  terrible  day,  Akla  would  send 
spies  to  lay  a  wreath  against  the  walls  of 
Andelsprutz.  She  could  do  no  more.  And 
on  this  night,  once  in  every  year,  I  used  to 
weep,  for  weeping  was  the  mood  of  the  city 
that  nursed  me.  Every  night  while  other 
cities  slept  did  Andelsprutz  sit  brooding 
here  and  hoping,  till  thirty  wreaths  lay 
mouldering  by  her  walls,  and  still  the  armies 
of  Akla  could  not  come. 

"But  after  she  had  hoped  so  long,  and 
on  the  night  that  faithful  spies  had  brought 
the  thirtieth  wreath,  Andelsprutz  went 
suddenly  mad.  All  the  bells  clanged  hide- 
ously in  the  belfries,  horses  bolted  in  the 
streets,  the  dogs  all  howled,  the  stolid  con- 
querors awoke  and  turned  in  their  beds 
and  slept  again;  and  I  saw  the  grey  shad- 
owy form  of  Andelsprutz  rise  up,  decking 

35 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

her  hair  with  the  phantasms  of  cathedrals, 
and  stride  away  from  her  city.  And  the 
great  shadowy  form  that  was  the  soul  of 
Andelsprutz  went  away  muttering  to  the 
mountains,  and  there  I  followed  her — for 
had  she  not  been  my  nurse?  Yes,  I  went 
away  alone  into  the  mountains,  and  for 
three  days,  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  I  slept  in 
their  misty  solitudes.  I  had  no  food  to  eat, 
and  to  drink  I  had  only  the  water  of  the 
mountain  streams.  By  day  no  living  thing 
was  near  to  me,  and  I  heard  nothing  but 
the  noise  of  the  wind,  and  the  mountain 
streams  roaring.  But  for  three  nights  I 
heard  all  round  me  on  the  mountain  the 
sounds  of  a  great  city:  I  saw  the  lights  of 
tall  cathedral  windows  flash  momently  on 
the  peaks,  and  at  times  the  glimmering 
lantern  of  some  fortress  patrol.  And  I  saw 
the  huge  misty  outline  of  the  soul  of  Andel- 
sprutz sitting  decked  with  her  ghostly 
cathedrals,  speaking  to  herself,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  before  her  in  a  mad  stare,  telling 
of  ancient  wars.  And  her  confused  speech 
for  all  those  nights  upon  the  mountain  was 
sometimes  the  voice  of  traffic,  and  then  of 
church  bells,  and  then  of  the  bugles,  but 

36 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

oftenest  it  was  the  voice  of  red  war;  and 
it  was  all  incoherent,  and  she  was  quite  mad. 

"The  third  night  it  rained  heavily  all 
night  long,  but  I  stayed  up  there  to  watch 
the  soul  of  my  native  city.  And  she  still 
sat  staring  straight  before  her,  raving;  but 
her  voice  was  gentler  now,  there  were  more 
chimes  in  it,  and  occasional  song.  Mid- 
night passed,  and  the  rain  still  swept  down 
on  me,  and  still  the  solitudes  of  the  moun- 
tain were  full  of  the  mutterings  of  the  poor 
mad  city.  And  the  hours  after  midnight 
came,  the  cold  hours  wherein  sick  men  die. 

"Suddenly  I  was  aware  of  great  shapes 
moving  in  the  rain,  and  heard  the  sound  of 
voices  that  were  not  of  my  city  nor  yet  of 
any  that  I  ever  knew.  And  presently  I  dis- 
cerned, though  faintly,  the  souls  of  a  great 
concourse  of  cities,  all  bending  over  Andel- 
sprutz  and  comforting  her,  and  the  ravines 
of  the  mountains  roared  that  night  with  the 
voices  of  cities  that  had  lain  still  for  cen- 
turies. For  there  came  the  soul  of  Camelot 
that  had  so  long  ago  forsaken  Usk;  and  there 
was  Ilion,  all  girt  with  towers,  still  cursing 
the  sweet  face  of  ruinous  Helen;  I  saw 
there  Babylon  and  Persepolis,  and  the 

37 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

bearded  face  of  bull-like  Nineveh,  and 
Athens  mourning  her  immortal  gods. 

"All  these  souls  of  cities  that  were  dead 
spoke  that  night  on  the  mountain  to  my 
city  and  soothed  her,  until  at  last  she 
mtttered  of  war  no  longer,  and  her  eyes 
stared  wildly  no  more,  but  she  hid  her  face 
in  her  hands  and  for  some  while  wept 
softly.  At  last  she  arose,  and,  walking 
slowly  and  with  bended  head,  and  leaning 
upon  Ilion  and  Carthage,  went  mournfully 
eastwards;  and  the  dust  of  her  highways 
swirled  behind  her  as  she  went,  a  ghostly 
dust  that  never  turned  to  mud  in  all  that 
drenching  rain.  And  so  the  souls  of  the 
cities  led  her  away,  and  gradually  they  dis- 
appeared from  the  mountain,  and  the 
ancient  voices  died  away  in  the  distance. 

"Never  since  then  have  I  seen  my  city 
alive;  but  once  I  met  with  a  traveller  who 
said  that  somewhere  in  the  midst  of  a  great 
desert  are  gathered  together  the  souls  of 
all  dead  cities.  He  said  that  he  was  lost 
once  in  a  place  where  there  was  no  water, 
and  he  heard  their  voices  speaking  all  the 
night." 

But  I  said:  "I  was  once  without  water 

38 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

in  a  desert  and  heard  a  city  speaking  to 
me,  but  knew  not  whether  it  really  spoke 
or  not,  for  on  that  day  I  heard  so  many 
terrible  things,  and  only  some  of  them  were 
true." 

And  the  man  with  the  black  hair  said: 
"I  believe  it  to  be  true,  though  whither 
she  went  I  know  not.  I  only  know  that 
a  shepherd  found  me  in  the  morning  faint 
with  hunger  and  cold,  and  carried  me  down 
here;  and  when  I  came  to  Andelsprutz  it 
was,  as  you  have  perceived  it,  dead." 


Where  the  Tides 
Ebb  and  Flow 


dreamt   that   I   had   done  a 
horrible  thing,  so  that  burial 
was  to  be  denied  me  either 
in  soil  or  sea,  neither  could 
there  be  any  hell  for  me. 
I  waited  for  some  hours,  knowing  this. 
Then  my  friends  came  for  me,  and  slew 
me  secretly  and  with  ancient  rite,  and  lit 
great  tapers,  and  carried  me  away. 

It  was  all  in  London  that  the  thing  was 
done,  and  they  went  furtively  at  dead  of 
night  along  grey  streets  and  among  mean 
houses  until  they  came  to  the  river.  And 
the  river  and  the  tide  of  the  sea  were 
grappling  with  one  another  between  the 
mud-banks,  and  both  of  them  were  black 
and  full  of  lights.  A  sudden  wonder  came 
into  the  eyes  of  each,  as  my  friends  came 
near  to  them  with  their  glaring  tapers. 

40 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

All  these  things  I  saw  as  they  carried  me 
dead  and  stiffening,  for  my  soul  was  still 
among  my  bones,  because  there  was  no 
hell  for  it,  and  because  Christian  burial 
was  denied  me. 

They  took  me  down  a  stairway  that  was 
green  with  slimy  things,  and  so  came  slowly 
to  the  terrible  mud.  There,  in  the  terri- 
tory of  forsaken  things,  they  dug  a  shallow 
grave.  When  they  had  finished  they  laid 
me  in  the  grave,  and  suddenly  they  cast 
their  tapers  to  the  river.  And  when  the 
water  had  quenched  the  flaring  lights  the 
tapers  looked  pale  and  small  as  they  bobbed 
upon  the  tide,  and  at  once  the  glamour  of 
the  calamity  was  gone,  and  I  noticed  then 
the  approach  of  the  huge  dawn;  and  my 
friends  cast  their  cloaks  over  their  faces, 
and  the  solemn  procession  was  turned  into 
many  fugitives  that  furtively  stole  away. 

Then  the  mud  came  back  wearily  and 
covered  all  but  my  face.  There  I  lay 
alone  with  quite  forgotten  things,  with 
drifting  things  that  the  tides  will  take  no 
farther,  with  useless  things  and  lost  things, 
and  with  the  horrible  unnatural  bricks  that 
are  neither  stone  nor  soil.  I  was  rid  of  feel- 

41 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

ing,  because  I  had  been  killed,  but  per- 
ception and  thought  were  in  my  unhappy 
soul.  The  dawn  widened,  and  I  saw  the 
desolate  houses  that  crowded  the  marge 
of  the  river,  and  their  dead  windows  peered 
into  my  dead  eyes,  windows  with  bales 
behind  them  instead  of  human  souls.  I 
grew  so  weary  looking  at  these  forlorn 
things  that  I  wanted  to  cry  out,  but  could 
not,  because  I  was  dead.  Then  I  knew,  as 
I  had  never  known  before,  that  for  all  the 
years  that  herd  of  desolate  houses  had 
wanted  to  cry  out  too,  but,  being  dead, 
were  dumb.  And  I  knew  then  that  it  had 
yet  been  well  with  the  forgotten  drifting 
things  if  they  had  wept,  but  they  were 
eyeless  and  without  life.  And  I,  too,  tried 
to  weep,  but  there  were  no  tears  in  my  dead 
eyes.  And  I  knew  then  that  the  river 
might  have  cared  for  us,  might  have  car- 
essed us,  might  have  sung  to  us,  but  he 
swept  broadly  onwards,  thinking  of  nothing 
but  the  princely  ships. 

At  last  the  tide  did  what  the  river  would 
not,  and  came  and  covered  me  over,  and 
my  soul  had  rest  in  the  green  water,  and 
rejoiced  and  believed  that  it  had  the  Burial 

42 


THE   TERRIBLE   MUD 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

of  the  Sea.  But  with  the  ebb  the  water 
fell  again,  and  left  me  alone  again  with  the 
callous  mud  among  the  forgotten  things 
that  drift  no  more,  and  with  the  sight  of  all 
those  desolate  houses,  and  with  the  know- 
ledge among  all  of  us  that  each  was  dead. 

In  the  mournful  wall  behind  me,  hung 
with  green  weeds,  forsaken  of  the  sea,  dark 
tunnels  appeared,  and  secret  narrow  pas- 
sages that  were  clamped  and  barred.  From 
these  at  last  the  stealthy  rats  came  down 
to  nibble  me  away,  and  my  soul  rejoiced 
thereat  and  believed  that  he  would  be  free 
perforce  from  the  accursed  bones  to  which 
burial  was  refused.  Very  soon  the  rats 
ran  away  a  little  space  and  whispered  among 
themselves.  They  never  came  any  more. 
When  I  found  that  I  was  accursed  even 
among  the  rats  I  tried  to  weep  again. 

Then  the  tide  came  swinging  back  and 
covered  the  dreadful  mud,  and  hid  the 
desolate  houses,  and  soothed  the  forgotten 
things,  and  my  soul  had  ease  for  a  while 
in  the  sepulture  of  the  sea.  And  then  the 
tide  forsook  me  again. 

To  and  fro  it  came  about  me  for  many 
years.  Then  the  County  Council  found 

43 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

me,  and  gave  me  decent  burial.  It  was  the 
first  grave  that  I  had  ever  slept  in.  That 
very  night  my  friends  came  for  me.  They 
dug  me  up  and  put  me  back  again  in  the 
shallow  hole  in  the  mud. 

Again  and  again  through  the  years  my 
bones  found  burial,  but  always  behind  the 
funeral  lurked  one  of  those  terrible  men 
who,  as  soon  as  night  fell,  came  and  dug 
them  up  and  carried  them  back  again  to 
the  hole  in  the  mud. 

And  then  one  day  the  last  of  those  men 
died  who  once  had  done  to  me  this  terrible 
thing.  I  heard  his  soul  go  over  the  river 
at  sunset. 

And  again  I  hoped. 

A  few  weeks  afterwards  I  was  found 
once  more,  and  once  more  taken  out  of 
that  restless  place  and  given  deep  burial 
in  sacred  ground,  where  my  soul  hoped 
that  it  should  rest. 

Almost  at  once  men  came  with  cloaks 
and  tapers  to  give  me  back  to  the  mud,  for 
the  thing  had  become  a  tradition  and  a  rite. 
And  all  the  forsaken  things  mocked  me  in 
their  dumb  hearts  when  they  saw  me  car- 
ried back,  for  they  were  jealous  of  me 

44 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

because  I  had  left  the  mud.  It  must  be 
remembered  that  I  could  not  weep. 

And  the  years  went  by  seawards  where 
the  black  barges  go,  and  the  great  derelict 
centuries  became  lost  at  sea,  and  still  I 
lay  there  without  any  cause  to  hope,  and 
daring  not  to  hope  without  a  cause,  be- 
cause of  the  terrible  envy  and  the  anger 
of  the  things  that  could  drift  no  more. 

Once  a  great  storm  rode  up,  even  as  far 
as  London,  out  of  the  sea  from  the  South; 
and  he  came  curving  into  the  river  with  the 
fierce  East  wind.  And  he  was  mightier 
than  the  dreary  tides,  and -went  with  great 
leaps  over  the  listless  mud.  And  all  the 
sad  forgotten  things  rejoiced,  and  mingled 
with  things  that  were  haughtier  than  they, 
and  rode  once  more  amongst  the  lordly 
shipping  that  was  driven  up  and  down. 
And  out  of  their  hideous  home  he  took  my 
bones,  never  again,  I  hoped,  to  be  vexed 
with  the  ebb  and  flow.  And  with  the  fall 
of  the  tide  he  went  riding  down  the  river 
and  turned  to  the  southwards,  and  so  went 
to  his  home.  And  my  bones  he  scattered 
among  many  isles  and  along  the  shores  of 
happy  alien  mainlands.  And  for  a  moment, 

45 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

while  they  were  far  asunder,  my  soul  was 
almost  free. 

Then  there  arose,  at  the  will  of  the  moon, 
the  assiduous  flow  of  the  tide,  and  it  undid 
at  once  the  work  of  the  ebb,  and  gathered 
my  bones  from  the  marge  of  sunny  isles, 
and  gleaned  them  all  along  the  mainland's 
shores,  and  went  rocking  northwards  till 
it  came  to  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  and 
there  turned  westwards  its  relentless  face, 
and  so  went  up  the  river  and  came  to  the 
hole  in  the  mud,  and  into  it  dropped  my 
bones;  and  partly  the  mud  covered  them  and 
partly  it  left  them  white,  for  the  mud  cares 
not  for  its  forsaken  things. 

Then  the  ebb  came,  and  I  saw  the  dead 
eyes  of  the  houses  and  the  jealousy  of  the 
other  forgotten  things  that  the  storm  had 
not  carried  thence. 

And  some  more  centuries  passed  over  the 
ebb  and  flow  and  over  the  loneliness  of 
things  forgotten.  And  I  lay  there  all  the 
while  in  the  careless  grip  of  the  mud,  never 
wholly  covered,  yet  never  able  to  go  free, 
and  I  longed  for  the  great  caress  of  the 
warm  Earth  or  the  comfortable  lap  of  the 
Sea. 

46 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

Sometimes  men  found  my  bones  and 
buried  them,  but  the  tradition  never  died, 
and  my  friends'  successors  always  brought 
them  back.  At  last  the  barges  went  no 
more,  and  there  were  fewer  lights;  shaped 
timbers  no  longer  floated  down  the 
fair-way,  and  there  came  instead  old 
wind-uprooted  trees  in  all  their  natural 
simplicity. 

At  last  I  was  aware  that  somewhere  near 
me  a  blade  of  grass  was  growing,  and  the 
moss  began  to  appear  all  over  the  dead 
houses.  One  day  some  thistledown  went 
drifting  over  the  river. 

For  some  years  I  watched  these  signs 
attentively,  until  I  became  certain  that 
London  was  passing  away.  Then  I  hoped 
once  more,  and  all  along  both  banks  of  the 
river  there  was  anger  among  the  lost  things 
that  anything  should  dare  to  hope  upon 
the  forsaken  mud.  Gradually  the  horrible 
houses  crumbled,  until  the  poor  dead  things 
that  never  had  had  life  got  decent  burial 
among  the  weeds  and  moss.  At  last  the 
may  appeared  and  the  convolvulus.  Finally, 
the  wild  rose  stood  up  over  mounds  that 
had  been  wharves  and  warehouses.  Then 

47 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

I  knew  that  the  cause  of  Nature  had 
triumphed,  and  London  had  passed  away. 

The  last  man  in  London  came  to  the  wall 
by  the  river,  in  an  ancient  cloak  that  was 
one  of  those  that  once  my  friends  had 
worn,  and  peered  over  the  edge  to  see  that 
I  still  was  there.  Then  he  went,  and  I 
never  saw  men  again:  they  had  passed 
away  with  London. 

A  few  days  after  the  last  man  had  gone 
the  birds  came  into  London,  all  the  birds 
that  sing.  When  they  first  saw  me  they 
all  looked  sideways  at  me,  then  they  went 
away  a  little  and  spoke  among  themselves. 

"He  only  sinned  against  Man,"  they 
said;  "it  is  not  our  quarrel." 

"Let  us  be  kind  to  him,"  they  said. 

Then  they  hopped  nearer  me  and  began 
to  sing.  It  was  the  time  of  the  rising  of 
the  dawn,  and  from  both  banks  of  the  river, 
and  from  the  sky,  and  from  the  thickets 
that  were  once  the  streets,  hundreds  of 
birds  were  singing.  As  the  light  increased 
the  birds  sang  more  and  more;  they  grew 
thicker  and  thicker  in  the  air  above  my 
head,  till  there  were  thousands  of  them 
singing  there,  and  then  millions,  and  at 

48 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

last  I  could  see  nothing  but  a  host  of  flicker- 
ing wings  with  the  sunlight  on  them,  and 
little  gaps  of  sky.  Then  when  there  was 
nothing  to  be  heard  in  London  but  the 
myriad  notes  of  that  exultant  song,  my  soul 
rose  up  from  the  bones  in  the  hole  in  the 
mud  and  began  to  climb  up  the  song  heaven- 
wards. And  it  seemed  that  a  laneway 
opened  amongst  the  wings  of  the  birds, 
and  it  went  up  and  up,  and  one  of  the 
smaller  gates  of  Paradise  stood  ajar  at  the 
end  of  it.  And  then  I  knew  by  a  sign  that 
the  mud  should  receive  me  no  more,  for 
suddenly  I  found  that  I  could  weep. 

At  this  moment  I  opened  my  eyes  in  bed 
in  a  house  in  London,  and  outside  some 
sparrows  were  twittering  in  a  tree  in  the 
light  of  the  radiant  morning;  and  there 
were  tears  still  wet  upon  my  face,  for  one's 
restraint  is  feeble  while  one  sleeps.  But 
I  arose  and  opened  the  window  wide,  and, 
stretching  my  hands  out  over  the  little 
garden,  I  blessed  the  birds  whose  song  had 
woken  me  up  from  the  troubled  and  terrible 
centuries  of  my  dream. 


Bethmoora 


here  is  a  faint  freshness  in  the 
London  night  as  though  some 
strayed  reveller  of  a  breeze 
had  left  his  comrades  in  the 
Kentish  uplands  and  had  en- 
The  pavements 
Upon  one's 


tered  the  town  by  stealth, 
are  a  little  damp  and  shiny, 
ears  that  at  this  late  hour  have  become  very 
acute  there  hits  the  tap  of  a  remote  footfall. 
Louder  and  louder  grow  the  taps,  filling 
the  whole  night.  And  a  black  cloaked 
figure  passes  by,  and  goes  tapping  into  the 
dark.  One  who  has  danced  goes  home- 
wards. Somewhere  a  ball  has  closed  its 
doors  and  ended.  Its  yellow  lights  are 
out,  its  musicians  are  silent,  its  dancers 
have  all  gone  into  the  night  air,  and  Time 
has  said  of  it,  "  Let  it  be  past  and  over,  and 
among  the  things  that  I  have  put  away." 
Shadows  begin  to  detach  themselves  from 

50 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

their  great  gathering  places.  No  less  silent- 
ly than  those  shadows  that  are  thin  and 
dead  move  homewards  the  stealthy  cats. 
Thus  have  we  even  in  London  our  faint 
forebodings  of  the  dawn's  approach,  which 
the  birds  and  the  beasts  and  the  stars 
are  crying  aloud  to  the  untrammelled  fields. 

At  what  moment  I  know  not  I  perceive 
that  the  night  itself  is  irrecoverably  over- 
thrown. It  is  suddenly  revealed  to  me 
by  the  weary  pallor  of  the  street  lamps 
that  the  streets  are  silent  and  nocturnal 
still,  not  because  there  is  any  strength  in 
night,  but  because  men  have  not  yet  arisen 
from  sleep  to  defy  him.  So  have  I  seen 
dejected  and  untidy  guards  still  bearing 
antique  muskets  in  palatial  gateways,  al- 
though the  realms  of  the  monarch  that  they 
guard  have  shrunk  to  a  single  province 
which  no  enemy  yet  has  troubled  to  overrun. 

And  it  is  now  manifest  from  the  aspect 
of  the  street  lamps,  those  abashed  depen- 
dants of  night,  that  already  English  moun- 
tain peaks  have  seen  the  dawn,  that  the 
cliffs  of  Dover  are  standing  white  to  the 
morning,  that  the  sea-mist  has  lifted  and 
is  pouring  inland. 

51 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

And  now  men  with  a  hose  have  come 
and  are  sluicing  out  the  streets. 

Behold  now  night  is  dead. 

What  memories,  what  fancies  throng  one's 
mind!  A  night  but  just  now  gathered  out 
of  London  by  the  hostile  hand  of  Time. 
A  million  common  artificial  things  all 
cloaked  for  a  while  in  mystery,  like  beggars 
robed  in  purple,  and  seated  on  dread 
thrones.  Four  million  people  asleep,  dream- 
ing perhaps.  What  worlds  have  they  gone 
into?  Whom  have  they  met?  But  my 
thoughts  are  far  off  with  Bethmoora  in  her 
loneliness,  whose  gates  swing  to  and  fro. 
To  and  fro  they  swing,  and  creak  and  creak 
in  the  wind,  but  no  one  hears  them.  They 
are  of  green  copper,  very  lovely,  but  no  one 
sees  them  now.  The  desert  wind  pours  sand 
into  their  hinges,  no  watchman  comes  to  ease 
them.  No  guard  goes  round  Bethmoora's 
battlements,  no  enemy  assails  them.  There 
are  no  lights  in  her  houses,  no  footfall  in  her 
streets;  she  stands  there  dead  and  lonely 
beyond  the  Hills  of  Hap,  and  I  would  see 
Bethmoora  once  again,  but  dare  not. 

It  is  many  a  year,  as  they  tell  me,  since 
Bethmoora  became  desolate. 

52 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

Her  desolation  is  spoken  of  in  taverns 
where  sailors  meet,  and  certain  travellers 
have  told  me  of  it. 

I  had  hoped  to  see  Bethmoora  once 
again.  It  is  many  a  year  ago,  they  say, 
when  the  vintage  was  last  gathered  in  from 
the  vineyards  that  I  knew,  where  it  is  all 
desert  now.  It  was  a  radiant  day,  and  the 
people  of  the  city  were  dancing  by  the 
vineyards,  while  here  and  there  one  played 
upon  the  kalipac.  The  purple  flowering 
shrubs  were  all  in  bloom,  and  the  snow 
shone  upon  the  Hills  of  Hap. 

Outside  the  copper  gates  they  crushed 
the  grapes  in  vats  to  make  the  syrabub. 
It  had  been  a  goodly  vintage. 

In  little  gardens  at  the  desert's  edge  men 
beat  the  tambang  and  the  tittibuk,  and 
blew  melodiously  the  zootibar. 

All  there  was  mirth  and  song  and  dance, 
because  the  vintage  had  been  gathered  in, 
and  there  would  be  ample  syrabub  for  the 
winter  months,  and  much  left  over  to  ex- 
change for  turquoises  and  emeralds  with 
the  merchants  who  come  down  from  Oxu- 
hahn.  Thus  they  rejoiced  all  day  over 
their  vintage  on  the  narrow  strip  of  culti- 

53 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

vated  ground  that  lay  between  Bethmoora 
and  the  desert  which  meets  the  sky  to  the 
South.  And  when  the  heat  of  the  day 
began  to  abate,  and  the  sun  drew  near  to 
the  snows  on  the  Hills  of  Hap,  the  note 
of  the  zootibar  still  rose  clear  from  the 
gardens,  and  the  brilliant  dresses  of  the 
dancers  still  wound  among  the  flowers. 
All  that  day  three  men  on  mules  had  been 
noticed  crossing  the  face  of  the  Hills  of 
Hap.  Backwards  and  forwards  they  moved 
as  the  track  wound  lower  and  lower,  three 
little  specks  of  black  against  the  snow. 
They  were  seen  first  hi  the  very  early 
morning  up  near  the  shoulder  of  Peol 
Jagganoth,  and  seemed  to  be  coming  out 
of  Utnar  Vehi.  All  day  they  came.  And 
in  the  evening,  just  before  lights  come  out 
and  colours  change,  they  appeared  before 
Bethmoora's  copper  gates.  They  carried 
staves,  such  as  messengers  bear  in  those 
lands,  and  seemed  sombrely  clad  when  the 
dancers  all  came  round  them  with  their 
green  and  lilac  dresses.  Those  Europeans 
who  were  present  and  heard  the  message 
given  were  ignorant  of  the  language,  and 
only  caught  the  name  of  Utnar  Vehi.  But 

.54 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

it  was  brief,  and  passed  rapidly  from  mouth 
to  mouth,  and  almost  at  once  the  people 
burnt  their  vineyards  and  began  to  flee 
away  from  Bethmoora,  going  for  the  most 
part  northwards,  though  some  went  to  the 
East.  They  ran  down  out  of  their  fair 
white  houses,  and  streamed  through  the 
copper  gate;  the  throbbing  of  the  tambang 
and  the  tittibuk  suddenly  ceased  with  the 
note  of  the  zootibar,  and  the  clinking  kali- 
pac  stopped  a  moment  after.  The  three 
strange  travellers  went  back  the  way  they 
came  the  instant  their  message  was  given. 
It  was  the  hour  when  a  light  would  have 
appeared  in  some  high  tower,  and  window 
after  window  would  have  poured  into  the 
dusk  its  lion-frightening  light,  and  the 
copper  gates  would  have  been  fastened  up. 
But  no  lights  came  out  in  windows  there 
that  night  and  have  not  ever  since,  and  those 
copper  gates  were  left  wide  and  have  never 
shut,  and  the  sound  arose  of  the  red  fire 
crackling  in  the  vineyards,  and  the  patter- 
ing of  feet  fleeing  softly.  There  were  no 
cries,  no  other  sounds  at  all,  only  the  rapid 
and  determined  flight.  They  fled  as  swiftly 
and  quietly  as  a  herd  of  wild  cattle  flee 

55 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

when  they  suddenly  see  a  man.  It  was 
as  though  something  had  befallen  which 
had  been  feared  for  generations,  which 
could  only  be  escaped  by  instant  flight, 
which  left  no  time  for  indecision. 

Then  fear  took  the  Europeans  also,  and 
they  too  fled.  And  what  the  message  was 
I  have  never  heard. 

Many  believe  that  it  was  a  message  from 
Thuba  Mleen,  the  mysterious  emperor  of 
those  lands,  who  is  never  seen  by  man, 
advising  that  Bethmoora  should  be  left 
desolate.  Others  say  that  the  message  was 
one  of  warning  from  the  gods,  whether 
from  friendly  gods  or  from  adverse  ones 
they  know  not. 

And  others  hold  that  the  Plague  was 
ravaging  a  line  of  cities  over  in  Utnar  Vehi, 
following  the  South-west  wind  which  for 
many  weeks  had  been  blowing  across  them 
towards  Bethmoora. 

Some  say  that  the  terrible  gnousar  sick- 
ness was  upon  the  three  travellers,  and  that 
their  very  mules  were  dripping  with  it, 
and  suppose  that  they  were  driven  to  the 
city  by  hunger,  but  suggest  no  better  reason 
for  so  terrible  a  crime. 

66 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

But  most  believe  that  it  was  a  message 
from  the  desert  himself,  who  owns  all  the 
Earth  to  the  southwards,  spoken  with  his 
peculiar  cry  to  those  three  who  knew  his 
voice — men  who  had  been  out  on  the  sand- 
wastes  without  tents  by  night,  who  had 
been  by  day  without  water,  men  who  had 
been  out  there  where  the  desert  mutters, 
and  had  grown  to  know  his  needs  and  his 
malevolence.  They  say  that  the  desert  had 
a  need  for  Bethmoora,  that  he  wished  to 
come  into  her  lovely  streets,  and  to  send 
into  her  temples  and  her  houses  his  storm- 
winds  draped  with  sand.  For  he  hates  the 
sound  and  the  sight  of  men  in  his  old  evil 
heart,  and  he  would  have  Bethmoora  silent 
and  undisturbed,  save  for  the  weird  love 
he  whispers  at  her  gates. 

If  I  knew  what  that  message  was  that 
the  three  men  brought  on  mules,  and  told 
in  the  copper  gate,  I  think  that  I  should 
go  and  see  Bethmoora  once  again.  For  a 
great  longing  comes  on  me  here  in  London 
to  see  once  more  that  white  and  beautiful 
city;  and  yet  I  dare  not,  for  I  know  not  the 
danger  I  should  have  to  face,  whether  I 
should  risk  the  fury  of  unknown  dreadful 

67 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

gods,  or  some  disease  unspeakable  and  slow, 
or  the  desert's  curse,  or  torture  in  some 
little  private  room  of  the  Emperor  Thuba 
Mleen,  or  something  that  the  travellers 
have  not  told — perhaps  more  fearful  still. 


58 


Idle  Days  on  the 
Yann 


o  I  came  down  through  the 
wood  to  the  bank  of  Yann 
and  found,  as  had  been  proph- 
esied, the  ship  Bird  of  the 
River  about  to  loose  her  cable. 
The  captain  sate  cross-legged  upon  the 
white  deck  with  his  scimitar  lying  beside 
him  in  its  jewelled  scabbard,  and  the  sailors 
toiled  to  spread  the  nimble  sails  to  bring 
the  ship  into  the  central  stream  of  Yann, 
and  all  the  while  sang  ancient  soothing 
songs.  And  the  wind  of  the  evening  des- 
cending cool  from  the  snowfields  of  some 
mountainous  abode  of  distant  gods  came 
suddenly,  like  glad  tidings  to  an  anxious 
city,  into  the  wing-like  sails. 

And  so  we  came  into  the  central  stream, 
whereat  the  sailors  lowered  the  greater  sails. 

59 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

But  I  had  gone  to  bow  before  the  captain, 
and  to  inquire  concerning  the  miracles, 
and  appearances  among  men,  of  the  most 
holy  gods  of  whatever  land  he  had  come 
from.  And  the  captain  answered  that  he 
came  from  fair  Belzoond,  and  worshipped 
gods  that  were  the  least  and  humblest,  who 
seldom  sent  the  famine  or  the  thunder,  and 
were  easily  appeased  with  little  battles. 
And  I  told  how  I  came  from  Ireland,  which 
is  of  Europe,  whereat  the  captain  and  all 
the  sailors  laughed,  for  they  said,  "There 
are  no  such  places  in  all  the  land  of  dreams." 
When  they  had  ceased  to  mock  me,  I 
explained  that  my  fancy  mostly  dwelt  in 
the  desert  of  Cuppar-Nombo,  about  a  beau- 
tiful blue  city  called  Golthoth  the  Damned, 
which  was  sentinelled  all  round  by  wolves 
and  their  shadows,  and  had  been  utterly 
desolate  for  years  and  years,  because  of 
a  curse  which  the  gods  once  spoke  in  anger 
and  could  never  since  recall.  And  some- 
times my  dreams  took  me  as  far  as  Pungar 
Vees,  the  red  walled  city  where  the  foun- 
tains are,  which  trades  with  the  Isles  and 
Thul.  When  I  said  this  they  complimented 
me  upon  the  abode  of  my  fancy,  saying 

60 


BIRD   OF  THE   RIVER 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

i 

that,  though  they  had  never  seen  these 
cities,  such  places  might  well  be  imagined. 
For  the  rest  of  that  evening  I  bargained 
with  the  captain  over  the  sum  that  I 
should  pay  him  for  my  fare  if  God  and 
the  tide  of  Yann  should  bring  us  safely 
as  far  as  the  cliffs  by  the  sea,  which 
are  named  Bar-Wul-Yann,  the  Gate  of 
Yann. 

And  now  the  sun  had  set,  and  all  the 
colors  of  the  world  and  heaven  had  held 
a  festival  with  him,  and  slipped  one  by  one 
away  before  the  imminent  approach  of 
night.  The  parrots  had  all  flown  home  to 
the  jungle  on  either  bank,  the  monkeys  in 
rows  in  safety  on  high  branches  of  the  trees 
were  silent  and  asleep,  the  fireflies  in  the 
deeps  of  the  forest  were  going  up  and  down, 
and  the  great  stars  came  gleaming  out  to 
look  on  the  face  of  Yann.  Then  the  sailors 
lighted  lanterns  and  hung  them  round  the 
ship,  and  the  light  flashed  out  on  a  sudden 
and  dazzled  Yann,  and  the  ducks  that 
fed  along  his  marshy  banks  all  suddenly 
arose,  and  made  wide  circles  in  the  upper 
air,  and  saw  the  distant  reaches  of  the 
Yann  and  the  white  mist  that  softly  cloaked 

61 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

the  jungle,  before  they  returned  again  into 
their  marshes. 

And  then  the  sailors  knelt  on  the  decks 
and  prayed,  not  all  together,  but  five  or  six 
at  a  time.  Side  by  side  there  kneeled 
down  together  five  or  six,  for  there  only 
prayed  at  the  same  time  men  of  different 
faiths,  so  that  no  god  should  hear  two  men 
praying  to  him  at  once.  As  soon  as  any 
one  had  finished  his  prayer,  another  of 
the  same  faith  would  take  his  place.  Thus 
knelt  the  row  of  five  or  six  with  bended 
heads  under  the  fluttering  sail,  while  the 
central  stream  of  the  River  Yann  took 
them  on  towards  the  sea,  and  their  prayers 
rose  up  from  among  the  lanterns  and 
went  towards  the  stars.  And  behind  them 
in  the  after  end  of  the  ship  the  helmsman 
prayed  aloud  the  helmsman's  prayer,  which 
is  prayed  by  all  who  follow  his  trade  upon 
the  River  Yann,  of  whatever  faith  they 
be.  And  the  captain  prayed  to  his  little 
lesser  gods,  to  the  gods  that  bless  Belzoond. 

And  I  too  felt  that  I  would  pray.  Yet 
I  liked  not  to  pray  to  a  jealous  God  there 
where  the  frail  affectionate  gods  whom  the 
heathen  love  were  being  humbly  invoked; 

62 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

so  I  bethought  me,  instead,  of  Sheol  Nug- 
ganoth,  whom  the  men  of  the  jungle  have 
long  since  deserted,  who  is  now  unwor- 
shipped  and  alone;  and  to  him  I  prayed. 

And  upon  us  praying  the  night  came 
suddenly  down,  as  it  comes  upon  all  men 
who  pray  at  evening  and  upon  all  men 
who  do  not;  yet  our  prayers  comforted  our 
own  souls  when  we  thought  of  the  Great 
Night  to  come. 

And  so  Yann  bore  us  magnificently  on- 
wards, for  he  was  elate  with  molten  snow 
that  the  Poltiades  had  brought  him  from 
the  Hills  of  Hap,  and  the  Mam  and  Migris 
were  swollen  full  with  floods;  and  he  bore 
us  in  his  might  past  Kyph  and  Pir,  and 
we  saw  the  lights  of  Goolunza. 

Soon  we  all  slept  except  the  helmsman, 
who  kept  the  ship  in  the  mid-stream  of 
Yann. 

When  the  sun  rose  the  helmsman  ceased 
to  sing,  for  by  song  he  cheered  himself  in 
the  lonely  night.  When  the  song  ceased 
we  suddenly  all  awoke,  and  another  took 
the  helm,  and  the  helmsman  slept. 

We  knew  that  soon  we  should  come  to 
Mandaroon.  We  made  a  meal,  and  Man- 

63 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

daroon  appeared.  Then  the  captain  com- 
manded, and  the  sailors  loosed  again  the 
greater  sails,  and  the  ship  turned  and  left 
the  stream  of  Yann  and  came  into  a  harbour 
beneath  the  ruddy  walls  of  Mandaroon. 
Then  while  the  sailors  went  and  gathered 
fruits  I  came  alone  to  the  gate  of  Man- 
daroon. A  few  huts  were  outside  it,  in 
which  lived  the  guard.  A  sentinel  with  a 
long  white  beard  was  standing  in  the  gate, 
armed  with  a  rusty  pike.  He  wore  large 
spectacles,  which  were  covered  with  dust. 
Through  the  gate  I  saw  the  city.  A  deathly 
stillness  was  over  all  of  it.  The  ways 
seemed  untrodden,  and  moss  was  thick  on 
doorsteps;  in  the  market-place  huddled 
figures  lay  asleep.  A  scent  of  incense  came 
wafted  through  the  gateway,  of  incense 
and  burned  poppies,  and  there  was  a  hum 
of  the  echoes  of  distant  bells.  I  said  to 
the  sentinel  in  the  tongue  of  the  region  of 
Yann,  "Why  are  they  all  asleep  in  this 
stiU  city?" 

He  answered:  "None  may  ask  questions 
in  this  gate  for  fear  they  wake  the  people 
of  the  city.  For  when  the  people  of  this 
city  wake  the  gods  will  die.  And  when 

64 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

the  gods  die  men  may  dream  no  more." 
And  I  began  to  ask  him  what  gods  that 
city  worshipped,  but  he  lifted  his  pike  be- 
cause none  might  ask  questions  there. 
So  I  left  him  and  went  back  to  the  Bird 
of  the  River. 

Certainly  Mandaroon  was  beautiful  with 
her  white  pinnacles  peering  over  her  ruddy 
walls  and  the  green  of  her  copper  roofs. 

When  I  came  back  again  to  the  Bird  of 
the  River,  I  found  the  sailors  were  returned 
to  the  ship.  Soon  we  weighed  anchor, 
and  sailed  out  again,  and  so  came  once 
more  to  the  middle  of  the  river.  And  now 
the  sun  was  moving  toward  his  heights, 
and  there  had  reached  us  on  the  River 
Yann  the  song  of  those  countless  myriads 
of  choirs  that  attend  him  in  his  progress  round 
the  world.  For  the  little  creatures  that 
have  many  legs  had  spread  their  gauze 
wings  easily  on  the  air,  as  a  man  rests  his 
elbows  on  a  balcony  and  gave  jubilant, 
ceremonial  praises  to  the  sun,  or  else  they 
moved  together  on  the  air  in  wavering 
dances  intricate  and  swift,  or  turned  aside 
to  avoid  the  onrush  of  some  drop  of  water 
that  a  breeze  had  shaken  from  a  jungle 

65 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

orchid,  chilling  the  air  and  driving  it  before 
it,  as  it  fell  whirring  in  its  rush  to  the  earth; 
but  all  the  while  they  sang  triumphantly. 
"For  the  day  is  for  us,"  they  said,  "whether 
our  great  and  sacred  father  the  Sun  shall 
bring  up  more  life  like  us  from  the  marshes, 
or  whether  all  the  world  shall  end  to-night." 
And  there  sang  all  those  whose  notes  are 
known  to  human  ears,  as  well  as  those 
whose  far  more  numerous  notes  have  been 
never  heard  by  man. 

To  these  a  rainy  day  had  been  as  an 
era  of  war  that  should  desolate  continents 
during  all  the  lifetime  of  a  man. 

And  there  came  out  also  from  the  dark 
and  steaming  jungle  to  behold  and  rejoice 
in  the  Sun  the  huge  and  lazy  butterflies. 
And  they  danced,  but  danced  idly,  on  the 
ways  of  the  air,  as  some  haughty  queen  of 
distant  conquered  lands  might  in  her  pov- 
erty and  exile  dance,  in  some  encampment 
of  the  gipsies,  for  the  mere  bread  to  live  by, 
but  beyond  that  would  never  abate  her 
pride  to  dance  for  a  fragment  more. 

And  the  butterflies  sung  of  strange  and 
painted  things,  of  purple  orchids  and  of 
lost  pink  cities  and  the  monstrous  colours 

66 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

of  the  jungle's  decay.  And  they,  too,  were 
among  those  whose  voices  are  not  discern- 
ible by  human  ears.  And  as  they  floated 
above  the  river,  going  from  forest  to  forest, 
their  splendour  was  matched  by  the  inimical 
beauty  of  the  birds  who  darted  out  to 
pursue  them.  Or  sometimes  they  settled 
on  the  white  and  wax-like  blooms  of  the 
plant  that  creeps  and  clambers  about  the 
trees  of  the  forest;  and  their  purple  wings 
flashed  out  on  the  great  blossoms  as,  when 
the  caravans  go  from  Nurl  to  Thace,  the 
gleaming  silks  flash  out  upon  the  snow, 
where  the  crafty  merchants  spread  them 
one  by  one  to  astonish  the  mountaineers 
of  the  Hills  of  Noor. 

But  upon  men  and  beasts  the  sun  sent 
a  drowsiness.  The  river  monsters  along 
the  river's  marge  lay  dormant  in  the  slime. 
The  sailors  pitched  a  pavillion,  with  golden 
tassels,  for  the  captain  upon  the  deck,  and 
then  went,  all  but  the  helmsman,  under  a 
sail  that  they  had  hung  as  an  awning 
between  two  masts.  Then  they  told  tales 
to  one  another,  each  of  his  own  city  or  of 
the  miracles  of  his  god,  until  all  were  fallen 
asleep.  The  captain  offered  me  the  shade 

67 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

of  his  pavilion  with  the  gold  tassels,  and 
there  we  talked  for  awhile,  he  telling  me 
that  he  was  taking  merchandise  to  Per- 
dondaris,  and  that  he  would  take  back  to 
fair  Belzoond  things  appertaining  to  the 
affairs  of  the  sea.  Then,  as  I  watched 
through  the  pavilion's  opening  the  brilliant 
birds  and  butterflies  that  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  over  the  river,  I  fell  asleep,  and 
dreamed  that  I  was  a  monarch  entering  his 
capital  underneath  arches  of  flags,  and  all 
the  musicians  of  the  world  were  there, 
playing  melodiously  their  instruments;  but 
no  one  cheered. 

In  the  afternoon,  as  the  day  grew  cooler 
again,  I  awoke  and  found  the  captain  buck- 
ling on  his  scimitar,  which  he  had  taken  off 
him  while  he  rested. 

And  now  we  were  approaching  the  wide 
court  of  Astahahn,  which  opens  upon  the 
river.  Strange  boats  of  antique  design  were 
chained  there  to  the  steps.  As  we  neared 
it  we  saw  the  open  marble  court,  on  three 
sides  of  which  stood  the  city  fronting  on 
colonnades.  And  in  the  court  and  along 
the  colonnades  the  people  of  that  city 
walked  with  solemnity  and  care  according 

68 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

to  the  rites  of  ancient  ceremony.  All  in 
that  city  was  of  ancient  device;  the  carving 
on  the  houses,  which,  when  age  had  broken 
it,  remained  unrepaired,  was  of  the  remotest 
times,  and  everywhere  were  represented  in 
stone  beasts  that  have  long  since  passed 
away  from  Earth — the  dragon,  the  griffin, 
and  the  hippogriffin,  and  the  different  spe- 
cies of  gargoyle.  Nothing  was  to  be  found, 
whether  material  or  custom,  that  was  new 
in  Astahahn.  Now  they  took  no  notice  at 
all  of  us  as  we  went  by,  but  continued  their 
processions  and  ceremonies  in  the  ancient 
city,  and  the  sailors,  knowing  their  custom, 
took  no  notice  of  them.  But  I  called,  as 
we  came  near,  to  one  who  stood  beside  the 
water's  edge,  asking  him  what  men  did  in 
Astahahn  and  what  their  merchandise  was, 
and  with  whom  they  traded.  He  said, 
"Here  we  have  fettered  and  manacled 
Time,  who  would  otherwise  slay  the  gods." 
I  asked  him  what  gods  they  worshipped 
in  that  city,  and  he  said,  "All  those  gods 
whom  Time  has  not  yet  slain."  Then  he 
turned  from  me  and  would  say  no  more, 
but  busied  himself  in  behaving  in  accordance 
with  ancient  custom.  And  so,  according 

69 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

to  the  will  of  Yann,  we  drifted  onwards 
and  left  Astahahn.  The  river  widened  be- 
low Astahahn,  and  we  found  in  greater 
quantities  such  birds  as  prey  on  fishes.  And 
they  were  very  wonderful  in  their  plumage, 
and  they  came  not  out  of  the  jungle,  but  flew, 
with  their  long  necks  stretched  out  before 
them,  and  their  legs  lying  on  the  wind  behind, 
straight  up  the  river  over  the  mid-stream. 

And  now  the  evening  began  to  gather 
in.  A  thick  white  mist  had  appeared  over 
the  river,  and  was  softly  rising  higher. 
It  clutched  at  the  trees  with  long  impalp- 
able arms,  it  rose  higher  and  higher,  chilling 
the  air;  and  white  shapes  moved  away  into 
the  jungle  as  though  the  ghosts  of  ship- 
wrecked mariners  were  searching  stealthily 
in  the  darkness  for  the  spirits  of  evil  that 
long  ago  had  wrecked  them  on  the  Yann. 

As  the  sun  sank  behind  the  field  of 
orchids  that  grew  on  the  matted  summit 
of  the  jungle,  the  river  monsters  came 
wallowing  out  of  the  slime  in  which  they 
had  reclined  during  the  heat  of  the  day, 
and  the  great  beasts  of  the  jungle  came 
down  to  drink.  The  butterfles  a  while 
since  were  gone  to  rest.  In  little  narrow 

70 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

tributaries  that  we  passed  night  seemed 
already  to  have  fallen,  though  the  sun  which 
had  disappeared  from  us  had  not  yet  set. 

And  now  the  birds  of  the  jungle  came 
flying  home  far  over  us,  with  the  sunlight 
glistening  pink  upon  their  breasts,  and 
lowered  their  pinions  as  soon  as  they  saw 
the  Yann,  and  dropped  into  the  trees.  And 
the  widgeon  began  to  go  up  the  river  in 
great  companies,  all  whistling,  and  then 
would  suddenly  wheel  and  all  go  down 
again.  And  there  shot  by  us  the  small  and 
arrow-like  teal;  and  we  heard  the  manifold 
cries  of  flocks  of  geese,  which  the  sailors 
told,  me  had  recently  come  in  from  cross- 
ing over  the  Lispasian  ranges;  every  year 
they  come  by  the  same  way,  close  by  the 
peak  of  Mluna,  leaving  it  to  the  left,  and 
the  mountain  eagles  know  the  way  they 
come  and — men  say — the  very  hour,  and 
every  year  they  expect  them  by  the  same 
way  as  soon  as  the  snows  have  fallen  upon 
the  Northern  Plains.  But  soon  it  grew  so 
dark  that  we  saw  these  birds  no  more,  and 
only  heard  the  whirring  of  their  wings,  and 
of  countless  others  besides,  until  they  all 
settled  down  along  the  banks  of  the  river, 

71  t 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

and  it  was  the  hour  when  the  birds  of  the 
night  went  forth.  Then  the  sailors  lit  the 
lanterns  for  the  night,  and  huge  moths 
appeared,  flapping  about  the  ship,  and  at 
moments  their  gorgeous  colours  would  be 
revealed  by  the  lanterns,  then  they  would 
pass  into  the  night  again,  where  all  was 
black.  And  again  the  sailors  prayed, 
and  thereafter  we  supped  and  slept,  and 
the  helmsman  took  our  lives  into  his  care. 

When  I  awoke  I  found  that  we  had 
indeed  come  to  Perdondaris,  that  famous 
city.  For  there  it  stood  upon  the  left  of 
us,  a  city  fair  and  notable,  and  all  the 
more  pleasant  for  our  eyes  to  see  after 
the  jungle  that  was  so  long  with  us.  And 
we  were  anchored  by  the  market-place,  and 
the  captain's  merchandise  was  all  displayed, 
and  a  merchant  of  Perdondaris  stood  look- 
ing at  it.  And  the  captain  had  his  scimi- 
tar in  his  hand,  and  was  beating  with  it 
in  anger  upon  the  deck,  and  the  splinters 
were  flying  up  from  the  white  planks;  for 
the  merchant  had  offered  him  a  price  for 
his  merchandise  that  the  captain  declared 
to  be  an  insult  to  himself  and  his  country's 
gods,  whom  he  now  said  to  be  great  and 

72 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

terrible  gods,  whose  curses  were  to  be 
dreaded.  But  the  merchant  waved  his 
hands,  which  were  of  great  fatness,  show- 
ing the  pink  palms,  and  swore  that  of  him- 
self he  thought  not  at  all,  but  only  of  the 
poor  folk  in  the  huts  beyond  the  city  to 
whom  he  wished  to  sell  the  merchandise 
for  as  low  a  price  as  possible,  leaving  no 
remuneration  for  himself.  For  the  mer- 
chandise was  mostly  the  thick  toomarund 
carpets  that  in  the  winter  keep  the  wind 
from  the  floor,  and  tollub  which  the  people 
smoke  in  pipes.  Therefore  the  merchant 
said  if  he  offered  a  piffek  more  the  poor 
folk  must  go  without  their  toomarunds 
when  the  winter  came,  and  without  their 
tollub  in  the  evenings,  or  else  he  and  his 
aged  father  must  starve  together.  Thereat 
the  captain  lifted  his  scimitar  to  his  own 
throat,  saying  that  he  was  now  a  ruined 
man,  and  that  nothing  remained  to  him 
but  death.  And  while  he  was  carefully 
lifting  his  beard  with  his  left  hand,  the 
merchant  eyed  the  merchandise  again,  and 
said  that  rather  than  see  so  worthy  a 
captain  die,  a  man  for  whom  he  had  con- 
ceived an  especial  love  when  first  he  saw 

73 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

the  manner  in  which  he  handlecThis  ship, 
he  and  his  aged  father  should  starve  to- 
gether and  therefore  he  offered  fifteen  pif- 
feks  more. 

When  he  said  this  the  captain  prostrated 
himself  and  prayed  to  his  gods  that  they 
might  yet  sweeten  this  merchant's  bitter 
heart  —  to  his  little  lesser  gods,  to  the  gods 
that  bless  Belzoond. 

At  last  the  merchant  offered  yet  five 
piffeks  more.  Then  the  captain  wept,  for 
he  said  that  he  was  deserted  of  his  gods; 
and  the  merchant  also  wept,  for  he  said 
that  he  was  thinking  of  his  aged  father,  and 
of  how  he  soon  would  starve,  and  he  hid 
his  weeping  face  with  both  his  hands,  and 
eyed  the  tollub  again  between  his  fingers. 
And  so  the  bargain  was  concluded,  and 
the  merchant  took  the  toomarund  and  tol- 
lub, paying  for  them  out  of  a  great  clinking 
purse.  And  these  were  packed  up  into 
bales  again,  and  three  of  the  merchant's 
slaves  carried  them  upon  their  heads  into 
the  city.  And  all  the  while  the  sailors  had 
sat  silent,  cross-legged  in  a  crescent  upon 
the  deck,  eagerly  watching  the  bargain, 
and  now  a  murmur  of  satisfaction  arose 

74 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

among  them,  and  they  began  to  compare 
it  among  themselves  with  other  bargains 
that  they  had  known.  And  I  found  out 
from  them  that  there  are  seven  merchants 
in  Perdondaris,  and  that  they  had  all  come 
to  the  captain  one  by  one  before  the  bargain- 
ing began,  and  each  had  warned  him  pri- 
vately against  the  others.  And  to  all  the 
merchants  the  captain  had  offered  the  wine 
of  his  own  country,  that  they  make  in  fair 
Belzoond,  but  could  in  no  wise  persuade 
them  to  it.  But  now  that  the  bargain  was 
over,  and  the  sailors  were  seated  at  the 
first  meal  of  the  day,  the  captain  appeared 
among  them  with  a  cask  of  that  wine,  and 
we  broached  it  with  care  and  all  made 
merry  together.  And  the  captain  was 
glad  in  his  heart  because  he  knew  that  he 
had  much  honour  in  the  eyes  of  his  men 
because  of  the  bargain  that  he  had  made. 
So  the  sailors  drank  the  wine  of  their  native 
land,  and  soon  their  thoughts  were  back 
in  fair  Belzoond  and  the  little  neighbour- 
ing cities  of  Durl  and  Duz. 

But  for  me  the  captain  poured  into  a 
little  glass  some  heavy  yellow  wine  from  a 
small  jar  which  he  kept  apart  among  his 

75 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

sacred  things.  Thick  and  sweet  it  was, 
even  like  honey,  yet  there  was  in  its  heart 
a  mighty,  ardent  fire  which  had  authority 
over  souls  of  men.  It  was  made,  the  cap- 
tain told  me,  with  great  subtlety  by  the 
secret  craft  of  a  family  of  six  who  lived 
in  a  hut  on  the  mountains  of  Hian  Min. 
Once  in  these  mountains,  he  said,  he  fol- 
lowed the  spoor  of  a  bear,  and  he  came 
suddenly  on  a  man  of  that  family  who  had 
hunted  the  same  bear,  and  he  was  at  the 
end  of  a  narrow  way  with  precipice  all  about 
him,  and  his  spear  was  sticking  in  the  bear, 
and  the  wound  not  fatal,  and  he  had  no 
other  weapon.  And  the  bear  was  walking 
towards  the  man,  very  slowly  because  his 
wound  irked  him — yet  he  was  now  very 
close.  And  what  the  captain  did  he  would 
not  say,  but  every  year  as  soon  as  the  snows 
are  hard,  and  travelling  is  easy  on  the  Hian 
Min,  that  man  comes  down  to  the  market 
in  the  plains,  and  always  leaves  for  the 
captain  in  the  gate  of  fair  Belzoond  a  vessel 
of  that  priceless  secret  wine. 

And  as  I  sipped  the  wine  and  the  captain 
talked,  I  remembered  me  of  stalwart  noble 
things  that  I  had  long  since  resolutely 

76 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

planned,  and  my  soul  seemed  to  grow 
mightier  within  me  and  to  dominate  the 
whole  tide  of  the  Yann.  It  may  be  that 
I  then  slept.  Or,  if  I  did  not,  I  do  not  now 
minutely  recollect  every  detail  of  that  morn- 
ing's occupations.  Towards  evening,  I 
awoke  and  wishing  to  see  Perdondaris  before 
we  left  in  the  morning,  and  being  unable  to 
wake  the  captain,  I  went  ashore  alone. 
Certainly  Perdondaris  was  a  powerful  city; 
it  was  encompassed  by  a  wall  of  great 
strength  and  altitude,  having  in  it  hollow 
ways  for  troops  to  walk  in,  and  battle- 
ments along  it  all  the  way,  and  fifteen 
strong  towers  on  it  in  every  mile,  and 
copper  plaques  low  down  where  men  could 
read  them,  telling  in  all  the  languages 
of  those  parts  of  the  Earth — one  language 
on  each  plaque — the  tale  of  how  an  army 
once  attacked  Perdondaris  and  what  befel 
that  army.  Then  I  entered  Perdondaris 
and  found  all  the  people  dancing,  clad  in 
brilliant  silks,  and  playing  on  the  tambang 
as  they  danced.  For  a  fearful  thunder- 
storm had  terrified  them  while  I  slept, 
and  the  fires  of  death,  they  said,  had 
danced  over  Perdondaris,  and  now  the 

77 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

thunder  had  gone  leaping  away  large  and 
black  and  hideous,  they  said,  over  the 
distant  hills,  and  had  turned  round  snarling 
at  them,  showing  his  gleaming  teeth,  and 
had  stamped,  as  he  went,  upon  the  hill- 
tops until  they  rang  as  though  they  had  been 
bronze.  And  often  and  again  they  stopped 
in  their  merry  dances  and  prayed  to  the 
God  they  knew  not,  saying,  "0,  God  that 
we  know  not,  we  thank  Thee  for  sending 
the  thunder  back  to  his  hills."  And  I 
went  on  and  came  to  the  market-place, 
and  lying  there  upon  the  marble  pavement 
I  saw  the  merchant  fast  asleep  and  breath- 
ing heavily,  with  his  face  and  the  palms 
of  his  hands  towards  the  sky,  and  slaves 
were  fanning  him  to  keep  away  the  flies. 
And  from  the  market-place  I  came  to  a 
silver  temple  and  then  to  a  palace  of  onyx, 
and  there  were  many  wonders  in  Perdondaris, 
and  I  would  have  stayed  and  seen  them  all, 
but  as  I  came  to  the  outer  wall  of  the 
city  I  suddenly  saw  in  it  a  huge  ivory 
gate.  For  a  while  I  paused  and  admired 
it,  then  I  came  nearer  and  perceived  the 
dreadful  truth.  The  gate  was  carved  out 
of  one  solid  piece! 

78 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

I  fled  at  once  through  the  gateway  and 
down  to  the  ship,  and  even  as  I  ran  I 
thought  that  I  heard  far  off  on  the  hills 
behind  me  the  tramp  of  the  fearful  beast 
by  whom  that  mass  of  ivory  was  shed, 
who  was  perhaps  even  then  looking  for 
his  other  tusk.  When  I  was  on  the  ship 
again  I  felt  safer,  and  I  said  nothing  to 
the  sailors  of  what  I  had  seen. 

And  now  the  captain  was  gradually  awak- 
ening. Now  night  was  rolling  up  from  the 
East  and  North,  and  only  the  pinnacles 
of  the  towers  of  Perdondaris  still  took  the 
fallen  sunlight.  Then  I  went  to  the  cap- 
tain and  told  him  quietly  of  the  thing  I  had 
seen.  And  he  questioned  me  at  once  about 
the  gate,  in  a  low  voice,  that  the  sailors 
might  not  know;  and  I  told  him  how  the 
weight  of  the  thing  was  such  that  it  could 
not  have  been  brought  from  afar,  and  the 
captain  knew  that  it  had  not  been  there  a 
year  ago.  We  agreed  that  such  a  beast 
could  never  have  been  killed  by  any  assault 
of  man,  and  that  the  gate  must  have  been 
a  fallen  tusk,  and  one  fallen  near  and 
recently.  Therefore  he  decided  that  it  were 
better  to  flee  at  once;  so  he  commanded, 

79 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

and  the  sailors  went  to  the  sails,  and  others 
raised  the  anchor  to  the  deck,  and  just  as 
the  highest  pinnacale  of  marble  lost  the  last 
rays  of  the  sun  we  left  Perdondaris,  that 
famous  city.  And  night  came  down  and 
cloaked  Perdondaris  and  hid  it  from  our 
eyes,  which  as  things  have  happened  will 
never  see  it  again;  for  I  have  heard  since 
that  something  swift  and  wonderful  has 
suddenly  wrecked  Perdondaris  in  a  day — 
towers,  and  walls,  and  people. 

And  the  night  deepened  over  the  River 
Yann,  a  night  all  white  with  stars.  And 
with  the  night  there  rose  the  helmsman's 
song.  As  soon  as  he  had  prayed  he  began 
to  sing  to  cheer  himself  all  through  the 
lonely  night.  But  first  he  prayed,  praying 
the  helmsman's  prayer.  And  this  is  what  I 
remember  of  it,  rendered  into  English  with 
a  very  feeble  equivalent  of  the  rhythm 
that  seemed  so  resonant  in  those  tropic 
nights. 

To  whatever  god  may  hear. 

Wherever  there  be  sailors  whether  of 
river  or  sea:  whether  their  way  be  dark 
or  whether  through  storm:  whether  their 
peril  be  of  beast  or  of  rock:  or  from  enemy 

80 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

lurking  on  land  or  pursuing  on  sea:  wher- 
ever the  tiller  is  cold  or  the  helmsman  stiff: 
wherever  sailors  sleep  or  helmsmen  watch: 
guard,  guide,  and  return  us  to  the  old 
land,  that  has  known  us:  to  the  far  homes 
that  we  know. 

To  all  the  gods  that  are. 
To  whatever  god  may  hear. 

So  he  prayed,  and  there  was  silence. 
And  the  sailors  laid  them  down  to  rest  for 
the  night.  The  silence  deepened,  and  was 
only  broken  by  the  ripples  of  Yann  that 
lightly  touched  our  prow.  Sometimes  some 
monster  of  the  river  coughed. 

Silence  and  ripples,  ripples  and  silence 
again. 

And  then  his  loneliness  came  upon  the 
helmsman,  and  he  began  to  sing.  And  he 
sang  the  market  songs  of  Durl  and  Duz, 
and  the  old  dragon-legends  of  Belzoond. 

Many  a  song  he  sang,  telling  to  spacious 
and  exotic  Yann  the  little  tales  and  trifles 
of  his  city  of  Durl.  And  the  songs  welled 
up  over  the  black  jungle  and  came  into 
the  clear  cold  air  above,  and  the  great 
bands  of  stars  that  look  on  Yann  began  to 

81 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

know  the  affairs  of  Durl  and  Duz,  and  of 
the  shepherds  that  dwelt  in  the  fields  be- 
tween, and  the  flocks  that  they  had,  and 
the  loves  that  they  had  loved,  and  all  the 
little  things  that  they  hoped  to  do.  And 
as  I  lay  wrapped  up  in  skins  and  blankets, 
listening  to  those  songs,  and  watching  the 
fantastic  shapes  of  the  great  trees  like  to 
black  giants  stalking  through  the  night,  I 
suddenly  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awoke  great  mists  were  trailing 
away  from  the  Yann.  And  the  flow  of 
the  river  was  tumbling  now  tumultuously, 
and  little  waves  appeared;  for  Yann  had 
scented  from  afar  the  ancient  crags  of 
Glorm,  and  knew  that  their  ravines  lay 
cool  before  him  wherein  he  should  meet 
the  merry  wild  Trillion  rejoicing  from  fields 
of  snow.  So  he  shook  off  from  him  the 
torpid  sleep  that  had  come  upon  him  in 
the  hot  and  scented  jungle,  and  forgot  its 
orchids  and  its  butterflies,  and  swept  on 
turbulent,  expectant,  strong;  and  soon 
the  snowy  peaks  of  the  Hills  of  Glorm  came 
glittering  into  view.  And  now  the  sailors 
were  waking  up  from  sleep.  Soon  we  all 
eat,  and  then  the  helmsman  laid  him  down 

82 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

to  sleep  while  a  comrade  took  his  place,  and 
they  all  spread  over  him  their  choicest 
furs. 

And  in  a  while  we  heard  the  sound  that 
the  Trillion  made  as  she  came  down  dancing 
from  the  fields  of  snow. 

And  then  we  saw  the  ravine  in  the  Hills 
of  Glorm  lying  precipitous  and  smooth  be- 
fore us,  into  which  we  were  carried  by  the 
leaps  of  Yann.  And  now  we  left  the  steamy 
jungle  and  breathed  the  mountain  air;  the 
sailors  stood  up  and  took  deep  breaths  of 
it,  and  thought  of  their  own  far-off  Acroctian 
hills  on  which  were  Durl  and  Duz — below 
them  in  the  plains  stands  fair  Belzoond. 

A  great  shadow  brooded  between  the 
cliffs  of  Glorm,  but  the  crags  were  shining 
above  us  like  gnarled  moons,  and  almost 
lit  the  gloom.  Louder  and  louder  came  the 
Trillion's  song,  and  the  sound  of  her  dancing 
down  from  the  fields  of  snow.  And  soon 
we  saw  her  white  and  full  of  mists,  and 
wreathed  with  rainbows  delicate  and  small 
that  she  had  plucked  up  near  the  mountain's 
summit  from  some  celestial  garden  of  the 
Sun.  Then  she  went  away  seawards  with 
the  huge  grey  Yann  and  the  ravine  widened, 

83 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

and  opened  upon  the  world,  and  our  rock- 
ing ship  came  through  to  the  light  of  the  day. 

And  all  that  morning  and  all  the  after- 
noon we  passed  through  the  marshes  of 
Pondoovery;  and  Yann  widened  there,  and 
flowed  solemnly  and  slowly,  and  the  cap- 
tain bade  the  sailors  beat  on  bells  to  over- 
come the  dreariness  of  the  marshes. 

At  last  the  Irusian  mountains  came  in 
sight,  nursing  the  villages  of  Pen-Kai  and 
Blut,  and  the  wandering  streets  of  Mlo, 
where  priests  propitiate  the  avalanche  with 
wine  and  maize.  Then  night  came  down 
over  the  plains  of  Tlun,  and  we  saw  the 
lights  of  Cappadarnia.  We  heard  the  Path- 
nites  beating  upon  drums  as  we  passed 
Imaut  and  Golzunda,  then  all  but  the 
helmsman  slept.  And  villages  scattered 
along  the  banks  of  the  Yann  heard  all  that 
night  in  the  helmsman's  unknown  tongue 
the  little  songs  of  cities  that  they  knew  not. 

I  awoke  before  dawn  with  a  feeling  that 
I  was  unhappy  before  I  remembered  why. 
Then  I  recalled  that  by  the  evening  of  the 
approaching  day,  according  to  all  foreseen 
probabilities,  we  should  come  to  Bar-Wul- 
Yann,  and  I  should  part  from  the  captain 

84 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

and  his  sailors.  And  I  had  liked  the  man 
because  he  had  given  me  of  his  yellow  wine 
that  was  set  apart  among  his  sacred  things, 
and  many  a  story  he  had  told  me  about  his 
fair  Belzoond  between  the  Acroctian  hills  and 
the  Hian  Min.  And  I  had  liked  the  ways 
that  his  sailors  had,  and  the  prayers  that 
they  prayed  at  evening  side  by  side,  grudg- 
ing not  one  another  their  alien  gods.  And 
I  had  a  liking  too  for  the  tender  way  in 
which  they  often  spoke  of  Durl  and  Duz, 
for  it  is  good  that  men  should  love  their 
native  cities  and  the  little  hills  that  hold 
those  cities  up. 

And  I  had  come  to  know  who  would 
meet  them  when  they  returned  to  their 
homes,  and  where  they  thought  the  meet- 
ings would  take  place,  some  in  a  valley 
of  the  Acroctian  hills  where  the  road  comes 
up  from  Yann,  others  in  the  gateway  of 
one  or  another  of  the  three  cities,  and  others 
by  the  fireside  in  the  home.  And  I  thought 
of  the  danger  that  had  menaced  us  all 
alike  outside  Perdondaris,  a  danger  that, 
as  things  have  happened,  was  very  real. 

And  I  thought  too  of  the  helmsman's 
cheery  song  in  the  cold  and  lonely  night, 

85 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

and  how  he  had  held  our  lives  in  his  careful 
hands.  And  as  I  thought  of  this  the  helms- 
man ceased  to  sing,  and  I  looked  up  and 
saw  a  pale  light  had  appeared  in  the  sky, 
and  the  lonely  night  had  passed;  and  the 
dawn  widened,  and  the  sailors  awoke. 

And  soon  we  saw  the  tide  of  the  Sea 
himself  advancing  resolute  between  Yann's 
borders,  and  Yann  sprang  lithely  at  him 
and  they  struggled  awhile;  then  Yann  and 
all  that  was  his  were  pushed  back  north- 
ward, so  that  the  sailors  had  to  hoist  the 
sails  and,  the  wind  being  favorable,  we 
still  held  onwards. 

And  we  passed  Gondara  and  Narl  and 
Haz.  And  we  saw  memorable,  holy  Gol- 
nuz,  and  heard  the  pilgrims  praying. 

When  we  awoke  after  the  midday  rest 
we  were  coming  near  to  Nen,  the  last  of 
the  cities  on  the  River  Yann.  And  the 
jungle  was  all  about  us  once  again,  and 
about  Nen;  but  the  great  Mloon  ranges 
stood  up  over  all  things,  and  watched  the 
city  from  beyond  the  jungle. 

Here  we  anchored,  and  the  captain  and 
I  went  up  into  the  city  and  found  that  the 
Wanderers  had  come  into  Nen. 

86 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

And  the  Wanderers  were  a  weird,  dark 
tribe,  that  once  in  every  seven  years  came 
down  from  the  peaks  of  Mloon,  having 
crossed  by  a  pass  that  is  known  to  them 
from  some  fantastic  land  that  lies  beyond. 
And  the  people  of  Nen  were  all  outside 
their  houses,  and  all  stood  wondering  at 
their  own  streets.  For  the  men  and  women 
of  the  Wanderers  had  crowded  all  the  ways, 
and  every  one  was  doing  some  strange 
thing.  Some  danced  astounding  dances 
that  they  had  learned  from  the  desert  wind, 
rapidly  curving  and  swirling  till  the  eye 
could  follow  no  longer.  Others  played  up- 
on instruments  beautiful  wailing  tunes  that 
were  full  of  horror,  which  souls  had  taught 
them  lost  by  night  in  the  desert,  that  strange 
far  desert  from  which  the  Wanderers 
came. 

None  of  their  instruments  were  such 
as  were  known  in  Nen  nor  in  any  part 
of  the  region  of  the  Yann;  even  the  horns 
out  of  which  some  were  made  were  of 
beasts  that  none  had  seen  along  the  river, 
for  they  were  barbed  at  the  tips.  And 
they  sang,  in  the  language  of  none,  songs 
that  seemed  to  be  akin  to  the  mysteries  of 

87 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

night   and   to   the   unreasoned   fear   that 
haunts  dark  places. 

Bitterly  all  the  dogs  of  Nen  distrusted 
them.  And  the  Wanderers  told  one  an- 
other fearful  tales,  for  though  no  one  in 
Nen  knew  ought  of  their  language  yet  they 
could  see  the  fear  on  the  listeners'  faces, 
and  as  the  tale  wound  on  the  whites  of 
their  eyes  showed  vividly  in  terror  as  the 
eyes  of  some  little  beast  whom  the  hawk 
has  seized.  Then  the  teller  of  the  tale 
would  smile  and  stop,  and  another  would 
tell  his  story,  and  the  teller  of  the  first 
tale's  lips  would  chatter  with  fear.  And  if 
some  deadly  snake  chanced  to  appear  the 
Wanderers  would  greet  him  as  a  brother, 
and  the  snake  would  seem  to  give  his  greet- 
ings to  them  before  he  passed  on  again. 
Once  that  most  fierce  and  lethal  of  tropic 
snakes,  the  giant  lythra,  came  out  of  the 
jungle  and  all  down  the  street,  the  central 
street  of  Nen,  and  none  of  the  Wanderers 
moved  away  from  him,  but  they  all  played 
sonorously  on  drums,  as  though  he  had 
been  a  person  of  much  honour;  and  the 
snake  moved  through  the  midst  of  them 
and  smote  none. 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

Even  the  Wanderers'  children  could  do 
strange  things,  for  if  any  one  of  them  met 
with  a  child  of  Nen  the  two  would  stare 
at  each  other  in  silence  with  large  grave 
eyes;  then  the  Wanderers'  child  would 
slowly  draw  from  his  turban  a  live  fish  or 
snake.  And  the  children  of  Nen  could  do 
nothing  of  that  kind  at  all. 

Much  I  should  have  wished  to  stay  and 
hear  the  hymn  with  which  they  greet  the 
night,  that  is  answered  by  the  wolves  on 
the  heights  of  Mloon,  but  it  was  now  time 
to  raise  the  anchor  again  that  the  captain 
might  return  from  Bar-Wul-Yann  upon 
the  landward  tide.  So  we  went  on  board 
and  continued  down  the  Yann.  And  the 
captain  and  I  spoke  little,  for  we  were 
thinking  of  our  parting,  which  should  be 
for  long,  and  we  watched  instead  the 
splendour  of  the  westerning  sun.  For  the 
sun  was  a  ruddy  gold,  but  a  faint  mist 
cloaked  the  jungle,  lying  low,  and  into  it 
poured  the  smoke  of  the  little  jungle  cities, 
and  the  smoke  of  them  met  together  in  the 
mist  and  joined  into  one  haze,  which  be- 
came purple,  and  was  lit  by  the  sun,  as 
the  thoughts  of  men  become  hallowed  by 

89 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

some  great  and  sacred  thing.  Some  times 
one  column  from  a  lonely  house  would  rise 
up  higher  than  the  cities'  smoke,  and  gleam 
by  itself  in  the  sun. 

And  now  as  the  sun's  last  rays  were 
nearly  level,  we  saw  the  sight  that  I  had 
come  to  see,  for  from  two  mountains  that 
stood  on  either  shore  two  cliffs  of  pink 
marble  came  out  into  the  river,  all  glowing 
in  the  light  of  the  low  sun,  and  they 
were  quite  smooth  and  of  mountainous 
altitude,  and  they  nearly  met,  and  Yann 
went  tumbling  between  them  and  found 
the  sea. 

And  this  was  Bar- Wul- Yann,  the  Gate  of 
Yann,  and  in  the  distance  through  that  bar- 
rier's gap  I  saw  the  azure  indescribable 
sea,  where  little  fishing-boats  went  gleam- 
ing by. 

And  the  sun  set,  and  the  brief  twilight 
came,  and  the  exultation  of  the  glory  of 
Bar- Wul- Yann  was  gone,  yet  still  the  pink 
cliffs  glowed,  the  fairest  marvel  that  the 
eye  beheld — and  this  in  a  land  of  wonders. 
And  soon  the  twilight  gave  place  to  the 
coming  out  of  stars,  and  the  colours  of 
Bar- Wul- Yann  went  dwindling  away.  And 

90 


THE    GATE   OF   YANN 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

the  sight  of  those  cliffs  was  to  me  as  some 
chord  of  music  that  a  master's  hand  had 
launched  from  the  violin,  and  which  carries 
to  Heaven  or  Faery  the  tremulous  spirits  of 
men. 

And  now  by  the  shore  they  anchored 
and  went  no  further,  for  they  were  sailors 
of  the  river  and  not  of  the  sea,  and  knew 
the  Yann  but  not  the  tides  beyond. 

And  the  time  was  come  when  the  captain 
and  I  must  part,  he  to  go  back  again  to  his 
fair  Belzoond  in  sight  of  the  distant  peaks 
of  the  Hian  Min,  and  I  to  find  my  way  by 
strange  means  back  to  those  hazy  fields 
that  all  poets  know,  wherein  stand  small 
mysterious  cottages  through  whose  win- 
dows, looking  westwards,  you  may  see  the 
fields  of  men,  and  looking  eastwards  see 
glittering  elfin  mountains,  tipped  with  snow, 
going  range  on  range  into  the  region  of 
Myth,  and  beyond  it  into  the  kingdom  of 
Fantasy,  which  pertain  to  the  Lands  of 
Dream.  Long  we  regarded  one  another, 
knowing  that  we  should  meet  no  more,  for 
my  fancy  is  weakening  as  the  years  slip  by, 
and  I  go  ever  more  seldom  into  the  Lands 
of  Dream.  Then  we  clasped  hands,  un- 

91 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

couthly  on  his  part,  for  it  is  not  the  method 
of  greeting  in  his  country,  and  he  com- 
mended my  soul  to  the  care  of  his  own 
gods,  to  his  little  lesser  gods,  the  humble 
ones,  to  the  gods  that  bless  Belzoond. 


t  was  a  cold  winter's  evening 
late  in  the  Stone  Age;  the  sun 
had  gone  down  blazing  over 
the  plains  of  Thold;  there 
were  no  clouds,  only  the  chill 
blue  sky  and  the  imminence  of  stars;  and 
the  surface  of  the  sleeping  Earth  began  to 
harden  against  the  cold  of  the  night.  Pres- 
ently from  their  lairs  arose,  and  shook 
themselves  and  went  stealthily  forth,  those 
of  Earth's  children  to  whom  it  is  the  law  to 
prowl  abroad  as  soon  as  the  dusk  has  fallen. 
And  they  went  pattering  softly  over  the 
plain,  and  their  eyes  shone  in  the  dark, 
and  crossed  and  recrossed  one  another  in 
their  courses.  Suddenly  there  became  mani- 
fest in  the  midst  of  the  plain  that  fearful 

93 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

portent  of  the  presence  of  Man — a  little 
flickering  fire.  And  the  children  of  Earth 
who  prowl  abroad  by  night  looked  side- 
ways at  it  and  snarled  and  edged  away; 
all  but  the  wolves,  who  came  a  little  nearer, 
for  it  was  winter  and  the  wolves  were 
hungry,  and  they  had  come  in  thousands 
from  the  mountains,  and  they  said  in  their 
hearts,  "We  are  strong."  Around  the  fire 
a  little  tribe  was  encamped.  They,  too, 
had  come  from  the  mountains,  and  from 
lands  beyond  them,  but  it  was  in  the 
mountains  that  the  wolves  first  winded 
them;  they  picked  up  bones  at  first  that 
the  tribe  had  dropped,  but  they  were  closer 
now  and  on  all  sides.  It  was  Loz  who  had 
lit  the  fire.  He  had  killed  a  small  furry 
beast,  hurling  his  stone  axe  at  it,  and  had 
gathered  a  quantity  of  reddish  brown  stones, 
and  had  laid  them  in  a  long  row,  and 
placed  bits  of  the  small  beast  all  along  it; 
then  he  lit  a  fire  on  each  side,  and  the  stones 
heated,  and  the  bits  began  to  cook.  It 
was  at  this  time  that  the  tribe  noticed  that 
the  wolves  who  had  followed  them  so  far 
were  no  longer  content  with  the  scraps  of 
deserted  encampments.  A  line  of  yellow 

94 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

eyes  surrounded  them,  and  when  it  moved 
it  was  to  come  nearer.  So  the  men  of  the 
tribe  hastily  tore  up  brushwood,  and  felled 
a  small  tree  with  their  flint  axes,  and 
heaped  it  all  over  the  fire  that  Loz  had 
made,  and  for  a  while  the  great  heap  hid 
the  flame,  and  the  wolves  came  trotting  in 
and  sat  down  again  on  their  haunches  much 
closer  than  before;  and  the  fierce  and 
valiant  dogs  that  belonged  to  the  tribe 
believed  that  their  end  was  about  to  come 
while  fighting,  as  they  had  long  since 
prophesied  it  would.  Then  the  flame  caught 
the  lofty  stack  of  brushwood,  and  rushed 
out  of  it,  and  ran  up  the  side  of  it,  and 
stood  up  haughtily  far  over  the  top,  and 
the  wolves  seeing  this  terrible  ally  of  Man 
revelling  there  in  his  strength,  and  knowing 
nothing  of  his  frequent  treachery  to  his 
masters,  went  slowly  away  as  though  they 
had  other  purposes.  And  for  the  rest  of 
that  night  the  dogs  of  the  encampment 
cried  out  to  them  and  besought  them  to 
come  back.  But  the  tribe  lay  down  all 
round  the  fire  under  thick  furs  and  slept. 
And  a  great  wind  arose  and  blew  into  the 
roaring  heart  of  the  fire  till  it  was  red  no 

95 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

longer,  but  all  pallid  with  heat.    With  the 
dawn  the  tribe  awoke. 

Loz  might  have  known  that  after  such 
a  mighty  conflagration  nothing  could  re- 
main of  his  small  furry  beast,  but  there 
was  hunger  in  him  and  little  reason  as  he 
searched  among  the  ashes.  What  he  found 
there  amazed  him  beyond  measure;  there 
was  no  meat,  there  was  not  even  his  row 
of  reddish  brown  stones,  but  something 
longer  than  a  man's  leg  and  narrower  than 
his  hand,  was  lying  there  like  a  great  flat- 
tened snake.  When  Loz  looked  at  its  thin 
edges  and  saw  that  it  ran  to  a  point,  he 
picked  up  stones  to  chip  it  and  make  it 
sharp.  It  was  the  instinct  of  Loz  to  sharpen 
things.  When  he  found  that  it  could  not 
be  chipped  his  wonderment  increased.  It 
was  many  hours  before  he  discovered  that 
he  could  sharpen  the  edges  by  rubbing 
them  with  a  stone;  but  at  last  the  point 
was  sharp,  and  all  one  side  of  it  except  near 
the  end,  where  Loz  held  it  in  his  hand. 
And  Loz  lifted  it  and  brandished  it,  and 
the  Stone  Age  was  over.  That  afternoon 
in  the  little  encampment,  just  as  the  tribe 
moved  on,  the  Stone  Age  passed  away, 

96 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

which,  for  perhaps  thirty  or  forty  thousand 
years,  had  slowly  lifted  Man  from  among 
the  beasts  and  left  him  with  his  suprem- 
acy beyond  all  hope  of  reconquest. 

It  was  not  for  many  days  that  any  other 
man  tried  to  make  for  himself  an  iron 
sword  by  cooking  the  same  kind  of  small 
furry  beast  that  Loz  had  tried  to  cook. 
It  was  not  for  many  years  that  any  thought 
to  lay  the  meat  along  stones  as  Loz  had 
done;  and  when  they  did,  being  no  longer 
on  the  plains  of  Thold,  they  used  flints  or 
chalk.  It  was  not  for  many  generations 
that  another  piece  of  iron  ore  was  melted 
and  the  secret  slowly  guessed.  Neverthe- 
less one  of  Earth's  many  veils  was  torn 
aside  by  Loz  to  give  us  ultimately  the 
steel  sword  and  the  plough,  machinery  and 
factories;  let  us  not  blame  Loz  if  we  think 
that  he  did  wrong,  for  he  did  all  in  ignor- 
ance. The  tribe  moved  on  until  it  came 
to  water,  and  there  it  settled  down  under  a 
hill,  and  they  built  their  huts  there.  Very 
soon  they  had  to  fight  with  another  tribe, 
a  tribe  that  was  stronger  than  them;  but 
the  sword  of  Loz  was  terrible  and  his  tribe 
slew  their  foes.  You  might  make  one 

97 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

blow  at  Loz,  but  then  would  come  one 
thrust  from  that  iron  sword,  and  there  was 
no  way  of  surviving  it.  No  one  could 
fight  with  Loz.  And  he  became  the  ruler 
of  the  tribe  in  the  place  of  Iz,  who  hitherto 
had  ruled  it  with  his  sharp  axe,  as  his 
father  had  before  him. 

Now  Loz  begat  Lo,  and  in  his  old  age 
gave  his  sword  to  him,  and  Lo  ruled  the 
tribe  with  it.  And  Lo  called  the  name  of 
the  sword  Death,  because  it  was  so  swift 
and  terrible. 

And  Iz  begat  Ird,  who  was  of  no  account. 
And  Ird  hated  Lo  because  he  was  of  no 
account  by  reason  of  the  iron  sword  of  Lo. 

One  night  Ird  stole  down  to  the  hut  of 
Lo,  carrying  his  sharp  axe,  and  he  went 
very  softly,  but  Lo's  dog,  Warner,  heard 
him  coming,  and  he  growled  softly  by  his 
master's  door.  When  Ird  came  to  the 
hut  he  heard  Lo  talking  gently  to  his 
sword.  And  Lo  was  saying,  "Lie  still, 
Death.  Rest,  rest,  old  sword,"  and  then, 
"What,  again,  Death?  Be  still.  Be  still." 

And  then  again:  "What,  art  thou  hun- 
gry, Death?  Or  thirsty,  poor  old  sword? 
Soon,  Death,  soon.  Be  still  only  a  little." 

98 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

But  Ird  fled,  for  he  did  not  like  the 
gentle  tone  of  Lo  as  he  spoke  to  his  sword. 

And  Lo  begat  Lod.  And  when  Lo  died 
Lod  took  the  iron  sword  and  ruled  the  tribe. 

And  Ird  begat  Ith,  who  was  of  no  account, 
like  his  father. 

Now  when  Lod  had  smitten  a  man 
or  killed  a  terrible  beast,  Ith  would  go 
away  for  a  while  into  the  forest  rather 
than  hear  the  praises  that  would  be  given 
to  Lod. 

And  once,  as  Ith  sat  in  the  forest  waiting 
for  the  day  to  pass,  he  suddenly  thought  he 
saw  a  tree  trunk  looking  at  him  as  with 
a  face.  And  Ith  was  afraid,  for  trees  should 
not  look  at  men.  But  soon  Ith  saw  that 
it  was  only  a  tree  and  not  a  man,  though 
it  was  like  a  man,  Ith  used  to  speak  to 
this  tree,  and  tell  it  about  Lod,  for  he 
dared  not  speak  to  any  one  else  about  him. 
And  Ith  found  comfort  in  talking  about 
Lod. 

One  day  Ith  went  with  his  stone  axe 
into  the  forest,  and  stayed  there  many  days. 

He  came  back  by  night,  and  the  next 
morning  when  the  tribe  awoke  they  saw 
something  that  was  like  a  man  and  yet 

99 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

was  not  a  man.  And  it  sat  on  the  hill 
with  its  elbows  pointing  outwards  and 
was  quite  still.  And  Ith  was  crouching 
before  it,  and  hurriedly  placing  before  it 
fruits  and  flesh,  and  then  leaping  away 
from  it  and  looking  frightened.  Presently 
all  the  tribe  came  out  to  see,  but  dared 
not  come  quite  close  because  of  the  fear 
that  they  saw  on  the  face  of  Ith.  And 
Ith  went  to  his  hut,  and  came  back 
again  with  a  hunting  spear-head  and 
valuable  small  stone  knives,  and 
reached  out  and  laid  them  before  the 
thing  that  was  like  a  man,  and  then 
sprang  away  from  it. 

And  some  of  the  tribe  questioned  Ith 
about  the  still  thing  that  was  like  a  man, 
and  Ith  said,  "This  is  Ged."  They  then 
asked,  "Who  is  Ged?"  and  Ith  said,  "Ged 
sends  the  crops  and  the  rain;  and  the  sun 
and  the  moon  are  Ged's." 

Then  the  tribe  went  back  to  their  huts, 
but  later  in  the  day  some  came  again,  and 
they  said  to  Ith,  "Ged  is  only  as  we  are, 
having  hands  and  feet."  And  Ith  pointed 
to  the  right  hand  of  Ged,  which  was  not 
as  his  left,  but  was  shaped  like  the  paw  of 

100 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

a  beast,  and  Ith  said,  "By  this  ye  may 
know  that  he  is  not  as  any  man." 

Then  they  said,  "He  is  indeed  Ged." 
But  Lod  said,  "He  speaketh  not,  nor 
doth  he  eat,"  and  Ith  answered,  "The 
thunder  is  his  voice  and  the  famine  is  his 
eating." 

After  this  the  tribe  copied  Ith,  and 
brought  little  gifts  of  meat  to  Ged;  and 
Ith  cooked  them  before  him  that  Ged 
might  smell  the  cooking. 

One  day  a  great  thunderstorm  came 
trampling  up  from  the  distance  and  raged 
among  the  hills,  and  the  tribe  all  hid  away 
from  it  in  their  huts.  And  Ith  appeared 
among  the  huts  looking  unafraid.  And 
Ith  said  little,  but  the  tribe  thought  that 
he  had  expected  the  terrible  storm  because 
the  meat  that  they  had  laid  before  Ged 
had  been  tough  meat,  and  not  the  best 
parts  of  the  beasts  they  slew. 

And  Ged  grew  to  have  more  honour 
among  the  tribe  than  Lod.  And  Lod  was 
vexed. 

One  night  Lod  arose  when  all  were 
asleep,  and  quieted  his  dog,  and  took  his 
iron  sword  and  went  away  to  the  hill. 
101 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

And  he  came  on  Ged  in  the  starlight, 
sitting  still,  with  his  elbows  pointing  out- 
wards, and  his  beast's  paw,  and  the  mark 
of  the  fire  on  the  ground  where  his  food 
had  been  cooked. 

And  Lod  stood  there  for  a  while  in  great 
fear,  trying  to  keep  to  his  purpose.  Sud- 
denly he  stepped  up  close  to  Ged  and  lifted 
his  iron  sword,  and  Ged  neither  hit  nor 
shrank.  Then  the  thought  came  into  Lod's 
mind,  "Ged  does  not  hit.  What  will  Ged 
do  instead?" 

And  Lod  lowered  his  sword  and  struck 
not,  and  his  imagination  began  to  work 
on  that,  "What  will  Ged  do  instead?" 

And  the  more  Lod  thought,  the  worse 
was  his  fear  of  Ged. 

And  Lod  ran  away  and  left  him. 

Lod  still  ruled  the  tribe  in  battle  or  in 
the  hunt,  but  the  chiefest  spoils  of  battle 
were  given  to  Ged,  and  the  beasts  that 
they  slew  were  Ged's;  and  all  questions 
that  concerned  war  or  peace,  and  questions 
of  law  and  disputes,  were  always  brought 
to  him,  and  Ith  gave  the  answers  after 
speaking  to  Ged  by  night. 

At  last  Ith  said,  the  day  after  an  eclipse, 
102 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

that  the  gifts  which  they  brought  to  Ged 
were  not  enough,  that  some  far  greater 
sacrifice  was  needed,  that  Ged  was  very 
angry  even  now,  and  not  to  be  appeased 
by  any  ordinary  sacrifice. 

And  Ith  said  that  to  save  the  tribe  from 
the  anger  of  Ged  he  would  speak  to  Ged 
that  night,  and  ask  him  what  new  sacrifice 
he  needed. 

Deep  in  his  heart  Lod  shuddered,  for 
his  instinct  told  him  that  Ged  wanted 
Lod's  only  son,  who  should  hold  the  iron 
sword  when  Lod  was  gone. 

No  one  would  dare  touch  Lod  because 
of  the  iron  sword,  but  his  instinct  said 
in  his  slow  mind  again  and  again,  "Ged 
loves  Ith.  Ith  has  said  so.  Ith  hates  the 
sword-holders." 

"Ith  hates  the  sword-holders.  Ged  loves 
Ith." 

Evening  fell  and  the  night  came  when 
Ith  should  speak  with  Ged,  and  Lod  be- 
came ever  surer  of  the  doom  of  his  race. 

He  lay  down  but  could  not  sleep. 

Midnight  had  barely  come  when  Lod 
arose  and  went  with  his  iron  sword  again 
to  the  hill. 

103 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

And  there  sat  Ged.  Had  Ith  been  to 
him  yet?  Ith  whom  Ged  loved,  who  hated 
the  sword-holders. 

And  Lod  looked  long  at  the  old  sword 
of  iron  that  had  come  to  his  grandfather 
on  the  plains  of  Thold. 

Good-bye,  old  sword!  And  Lod  laid  it 
on  the  knees  of  Ged,  then  went  away. 

And  when  Ith  came,  a  little  before  dawn, 
the  sacrifice  was  found  acceptable  unto 
Ged. 


104 


The  Idle  City 


here  was  once  a  city  which 
was  an  idle  city,  wherein  men 
told  vain  tales. 

And  it  was  that  city's  cus- 
tom to  tax  all  men  that  would 
enter  in,  with  the  toll  of  some  idle  story  in 
the  gate. 

So  all  men  paid  to  the  watchers  in  the 
gate  the  toll  of  an  idle  story,  and  passed 
into  the  city  unhindered  and  unhurt.  And 
in  a  certain  hour  of  the  night  when  the 
king  of  that  city  arose  and  went  pacing 
swiftly  up  and  down  the  chamber  of  his 
sleeping,  and  called  upon  the  name  of  the 
dead  queen,  then  would  the  watchers  fasten 
up  the  gate  and  go  into  that  chamber  to 
the  king,  and,  sitting  on  the  floor,  would 
tell  him  all  the  tales  that  they  had  gathered. 

105 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

And  listening  to  them  some  calmer  mood 
would  come  upon  the  king,  and  listening 
still  he  would  lie  down  again  and  at  last 
fall  asleep,  and  all  the  watchers  silently 
would  arise  and  steal  away  from  the 
chamber. 

A  while  ago  wandering,  I  came  to  the 
gate  of  that  city.  And  even  as  I  came 
a  man  stood  up  to  pay  his  toll  to  the 
watchers.  They  were  seated  cross-legged 
on  the  ground  between  him  and  the  gate, 
and  each  one  held  a  spear.  Near  him  two 
other  travellers  sat  on  the  warm  sand  wait- 
ing. And  the  man  said: 

"Now  the  city  of  Nombros  forsook  the 
worship  of  the  gods  and  turned  towards 
God.  So  the  gods  threw  their  cloaks  over 
their  faces  and  strode  away  from  the  city, 
and  going  into  the  haze  among  the  hills 
passed  through  the  trunks  of  the  olive 
groves  into  the  sunset.  But  when  they  had 
already  left  the  earth,  they  turned  and 
looked  through  the  gleaming  folds  of  the 
twilight  for  the  last  time  at  their  city;  and 
they  looked  half  in  anger  and  half  in  regret, 
then  turned  and  went  away  for  ever.  But 
they  sent  back  a  Death,  who  bore  a  scythe, 

106 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

saying  to  it:  "Slay  half  in  the  city  that  for- 
sook us,  but  half  of  them  spare  alive  that 
they  may  yet  remember  their  old  forsaken 
gods." 

But  God  sent  a  destroying  angel  to  show 
that  He  was  God,  saying  unto  him:  "Go 
down  and  show  the  strength  of  mine  arm 
unto  that  city  and  slay  half  of  the  dwellers 
therein,  yet  spare  a  half  of  them  that  they 
may  know  that  I  am  God." 

And  at  once  the  destroying  angel  put 
his  hand  to  his  sword,  and  the  sword  came 
out  of  the  scabbard  with  a  deep  breath, 
like  to  the  breath  that  a  broad  woodman 
takes  before  his  first  blow  at  some  giant 
oak.  Thereat  the  angel  pointed  his  arms 
downwards,  and  bending  his  head  between 
them,  fell  forward  from  Heaven's  edge, 
and  the  spring  of  his  ankles  shot  him 
downwards  with  his  wings  furled  behind 
him.  So  he  went  slanting  earthward  through 
the  evening  with  his  sword  stretched  out 
before  him,  and  he  was  like  a  javelin  that 
some  hunter  hath  hurled  that  returneth 
again  to  the  earth:  but  just  before  he 
touched  it  he  lifted  his  head  and  spread 
his  wings  with  the  under  feathers  forward, 

107 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

and  alighted  by  the  bank  of  the  broad 
Flavro  that  divides  the  city  of  Nombros. 
And  down  the  bank  of  the  Flavro  he 
fluttered  low,  like  to  a  hawk  over  a  new-cut 
cornfield  when  the  little  creatures  of  the 
corn  are  shelterless,  and  at  the  same  time 
down  the  other  bank  the  Death  from  the 
gods  went  mowing. 

At  once  they  saw  each  other,  and  the 
angel  glared  at  the  Death,  and  the  Death 
leered  back  at  him,  and  the  flames  in  the 
eyes  of  the  angel  illumined  with  a  red  glare 
the  mist  that  lay  in  the  hollows  of  the 
sockets,  of  the  Death.  Suddenly  they  fell 
on  one  another,  sword  to  scythe.  And 
the  angel  captured  the  temples  of  the  gods, 
and  set  up  over  them  the  sign  of  God,  and 
the  Death  captured  the  temples  of  God, 
and,  led  into  them  the  ceremonies  and  sac- 
rifices of  the  gods;  and  all  the  while  the 
centuries  slipped  quietly  by  going  down  the 
Flavro  seawards. 

And  now  some  worship  God  in  the  temple 
of  the  gods,  and  others  worship  the  gods 
in  the  temple  of  God,  and  still  the  angel 
hath  not  returned  again  to  the  rejoicing 
choirs,  and  still  the  Death  hath  not  gone 

108 


THE    SILENCE    OF    CED 


back  to  die  with  the  dead  gods;  but  all 
through  Nombros  they  fight  up  and  down, 
and  still  on  each  side  of  the  Flavro  the  city 
lives. 
And  the  watchers  in  the  gate  said,  "Enter 


in." 


Then  another  traveller  rose  up,  and  said : 

"Solemnly  between  Huhenwazi  and  Nit- 
crana the  huge  grey  clouds  came  floating. 
And  those  great  mountains,  heavenly  Huhen- 
wazi, and  Nitcrana,  the  king  of  peaks, 
greeted  them,  calling  them  brothers.  And 
the  clouds  were  glad  of  their  greeting  for 
they  meet  with  companions  seldom  in  the 
lonely  heights  of  the  sky. 

"But  the  vapours  of  evening  said  unto 
the  earth-mist,  'What  are  those  shapes 
that  dare  to  move  above  us  and  to  go 
where  Nitcrana  is  and  Huhenwazi? ' 

"And  the  earth-mist  said  in  answer  unto 
the  vapours  of  evening,  'It  is  only  an 
earth-mist  that  has  become  mad  and  has 
left  the  warm  and  comfortable  earth,  and 
has  in  his  madness  thought  that  his  place 
is  with  Huhenwazi  and  Nitcrana.' 

"  'Once,'  said  the  vapours  of  evening, 
'there  were  clouds,  but  this  was  many  and 

109 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

many  a  day  ago,  as  our  forefathers  have 
said.  Perhaps  the  mad  one  thinks  he  is  the 
clouds.' 

"Then  spake  the  earth-worms  from  the 
warm  deeps  of  the  mud,  saying  '0,  earth- 
mist,  thou  art  indeed  the  clouds,  and  there 
are  no  clouds  but  thou.  And  as  for  Huhen- 
wazi  and  Nitcrana,  I  cannot  see  them,  and 
therefore  they  are  not  high,  and  there  are 
no  mountains  in  the  world  but  those  that 
I  cast  up  every  morning  out  of  the  deeps 
of  the  mud.' 

"And  the  earth-mist  and  the  vapours 
of  evening  were  glad  at  the  voice  of  the 
earth-worms,  and  looking  earthward  be- 
lieved what  they  had  said. 

"And  indeed  it  is  better  to  be  as  the 
earth-mist,  and  to  keep  close  to  the  warm 
mud  at  night,  and  to  hear  the  earth-worm's 
comfortable  speech,  and  not  to  be  a  wand- 
erer in  the  cheerless  heights,  but  to  leave 
the  mountains  alone  with  their  desolate 
snow,  to  draw  what  comfort  they  can 
from  their  vast  aspect  over  all  the  cities 
of  men,  and  from  the  whispers  that 
they  hear  at  evening  of  unknown  distant 
Gods." 

no 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

And  the  watchers  in  the  gate  said, 
"Enter  in." 

Then  a  man  stood  up  who  came  out  of  the 
west,  and  told  a  western  tale.  He  said : 

"There  is  a  road  in  Rome  that  runs 
through  an  ancient  temple  that  once  the 
gods  had  loved;  it  runs  along  the  top  of  a 
great  wall,  and  the  floor  of  the  temple  lies 
far  down  beneath  it,  of  marble,  pink  and 
white. 

"Upon  the  temple  floor  I  counted  to  the 
number  of  thirteen  hungry  cats. 

"  '  Sometimes,'  they  said  among  them- 
selves, 'It  was  the  gods  that  lived  here, 
sometimes  it  was  men,  and  now  it's  cats. 
So  let  us  enjoy  the  sun  on  the  hot  marble 
before  another  people  comes. 

"For  it  was  at  that  hour  of  a  warm  after- 
noon when  my  fancy  is  able  to  hear  the 
silent  voices. 

"And  the  fearful  leanness  of  all  those 
thirteen  cats  moved  me  to  go  into  a  neigh- 
bouring fish  shop,  and  there  to  buy  a  quan- 
tity of  fishes.  Then  I  returned  and  threw 
them  all  over  the  railing  at  the  top  of  the 
great  wall,  and  they  fell  for  thirty  feet, 
and  hit  the  sacred  marble  with  a  smack, 
ill 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

"Now,  in  any  other  town  but  Rome,  or 
in  the  minds  of  any  other  cats,  the  sight 
of  fishes  falling  out  of  heaven  had  surely 
excited  wonder.  They  rose  slowly,  and  all 
stretched  themselves,  then  they  came  leis- 
urely towards  the  fishes.  'It  is  only  a 
miracle,'  they  said  in  their  hearts." 

And  the  watchers  in  the  gate  said, 
"Enter  in." 

Proudly  and  slowly,  as  they  spoke,  drew 
up  to  them  a  camel,  whose  rider  sought  for 
entrance  to  the  city.  His  face  shone  with 
the  sunset  by  which  for  long  he  had  steered 
for  the  city's  gate.  Of  him  they  demanded 
toll.  Whereat  he  spoke  to  his  camel,  and 
the  camel  roared  and  kneeled,  and  the  man 
descended  from  him.  And  the  man  un- 
wrapped from  many  silks  a  box  of  divers 
metals  wrought  by  the  Japanese,  and  on 
the  lid  of  it  were  figures  of  men  who  gazed 
from  some  shore  at  an  isle  of  the  Inland 
Sea.  This  he  showed  to  the  watchers,  and 
when  they  had  seen  it,  said,  "It  has  seemed 
to  me  that  these  speak  to  each  other  thus: 

"Behold  now  Oojni,  the  dear  one  of  the 
sea,  the  little  mother  sea  that  hath  no 
storms.  She  goeth  out  from  Oojni  singing 
112 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

a  song,  and  she  returneth  singing  over  her 
sands.  Little  is  Oojni  in  the  lap  of  the 
sea,  and  scarce  to  be  perceived  by  wonder- 
ing ships.  White  sails  have  never  wafted 
her  legends  afar,  they  are  told  not  by 
bearded  wanderers  of  the  sea.  Her  fireside 
tales  are  known  not  to  the  North,  the 
dragons  of  China  have  not  heard  of  them, 
nor  those  that  ride  on  elephants  through  Ind. 

"  Men  tell  the  tales  and  the  smoke  ariseth 
upwards;  the  smoke  departeth  and  the 
tales  are  told. 

"  Oojni  is  not  a  name  among  the  nations, 
she  is  not  known  of  where  the  merchants 
meet,  she  is  not  spoken  of  by  alien  lips. 

"Indeed,  but  Oojni  is  little  among  the 
isles,  yet  is  she  loved  by  those  that  know 
her  coasts  and  her  inland  places  hidden 
from  the  sea. 

"Without  glory,  without  fame,  and  with- 
out wealth,  Oojni  is  greatly  loved  by  a 
little  people,  and  by  a  few;  yet  not  by  few, 
for  all  her  dead  still  love  her,  and  oft  by 
night  come  whispering  through  her  woods. 
Who  could  forget  Oojni  even  among  the 
dead? 

"For  here  in  Oojni,  wot  you,  are  homes 

113 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

of  men,  and  gardens,  and  golden  temples 
of  the  gods,  and  sacred  places  inshore  from 
the  sea,  and  many  murmurous  woods.  And 
there  is  a  path  that  winds  over  the  hills  to 
go  into  mysterious  holy  lands  where  dance 
by  night  the  spirits  of  the  woods,  or  sing 
unseen  in  the  sunlight;  and  no  one  goes 
into  these  holy  lands,  for  who  that  love 
Oojni  would  rob  her  of  her  mysteries,  and 
the  curious  aliens  come  not.  Indeed,  but 
we  love  Oojni  though  she  is  so  little;  she 
is  the  little  mother  of  our  race,  and  the 
kindly  nurse  of  all  seafaring  birds. 

"And  behold,  even  now  caressing  her, 
the  gentle  fingers  of  the  mother  sea,  whose 
dreams  are  afar  with  that  old  wanderer 
Ocean. 

"And  yet  let  us  forget  not  Fuzi-Yama, 
for  he  stands  manifest  over  clouds  and 
sea,  misty  below,  and  vague  and  indistinct, 
but  clear  above  for  all  the  isles  to  watch. 
The  ships  make  all  their  journeys  in  his 
sight,  the  nights  and  the  days  go  by  him 
like  a  wind,  the  summers  and  winters 
under  him  flicker  and  fade,  the  lives  of 
men  pass  quietly  here  and  hence,  and 
Fuzi-Yama  watches  there — and  knows." 

114 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

And  the  watchers  in  the  gate  said 
"Enter  in." 

And  I,  too,  would  have  told  them  a  tale, 
very  wonderful  and  very  true;  one  that 
I  had  told  in  many  cities,  which  as  yet 
had  no  believers.  But  now  the  sun  had 
set,  and  the  brief  twilight  gone,  and  ghostly 
silences  were  rising  from  far  and  darken- 
ing hills.  A  stillness  hung  over  that  city's 
gate.  And  the  great  silence  of  the  solemn 
night  was  more  acceptable  to  the  watchers 
in  the  gate  than  any  sound  of  man.  There- 
fore they  beckoned  to  us,  and  motioned 
with  their  hands  that  we  should  pass  un- 
taxed  into  the  city.  And  softly  we  went 
up  over  the  sand,  and  between  the  high 
rock  pillars  of  the  gate,  and  a  deep  stillness 
settled  among  the  watchers,  and  the  stars 
over  them  twinkled  undisturbed. 

For  how  short  a  while  man  speaks,  and 
withal  how  vainly.  And  for  how  long  he 
is  silent.  Only  the  other  day  I  met  a 
king  in  Thebes,  who  had  been  silent  already 
for  four  thousand  years. 


The  Hashish  Man 


was  at  dinner  in  London  the 
'other  day.  The  ladies  had 
gone  upstairs,  and  no  one  sat 
son  my  right;  on  my  left  there 
>was  a  man  I  did  not  know, 
but  he  knew  my  name  somehow  apparently, 
for  he  turned  to  me  after  a  while,  and  said, 
"I  read  a  story  of  yours  about  Bethmoora 
in  a  review." 

Of  course  I  remembered  the  tale.  It 
was  about  a  beautiful  Oriental  city  that 
was  suddenly  deserted  in  a  day — nobody 
quite  knew  why.  I  said,  "Oh,  yes,"  and 
slowly  searched  in  my  mind  for  some  more 
fitting  acknowledgement  of  the  compliment 
that  his  memory  had  paid  me. 

I  was  greatly  astonished  when  he  said, 
"You  were  wrong  about  the  gnousar  sick- 
ness; it  was  not  that  at  all." 
J13 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

I  said,  "Why!  Have  you  been  there?" 
And  he  said,  "Yes;  I  do  it  with  has- 
hish. I  know  Bethmoora  well."  And  he 
took  out  of  his  pocket  a  small  box  full  of 
some  black  stuff  that  looked  like  tar,  but 
had  a  stranger  smell.  He  warned  me  not 
to  touch  it  with  my  finger,  as  the  stain 
remained  for  days.  "I  got  it  from  a 
gipsy,"  he  said.  "He  had  a  lot  of  it,  as 
it  had  killed  his  father."  But  I  inter- 
rupted him,  for  I  wanted  to  know  for 
certain  what  it  was  that  had  made  deso- 
late that  beautiful  city,  Bethmoora,  and 
why  they  fled  from  it  swiftly  in  a  day. 
"Was  it  because  of  the  Desert's  curse?" 
I  asked.  And  he  said,  "Partly  it  was  the 
fury  of  the  Desert  and  partly  the  advice 
of  the  Emperor  Thuba  Mleen,  for  that 
fearful  beast  is  in  some  way  connected 
with  the  Desert  on  his  mother's  side." 
And  he  told  me  this  strange  story:  "You 
remember  the  sailor  with  the  black  scar, 
who  was  there  on  the  day  that  you  des- 
cribed when  the  messengers  came  on  mules 
to  the  gate  of  Bethmoora,  and  all  the 
people  fled.  I  met  this  man  in  a  tavern, 
drinking  rum,  and  he  told  me  all  about 

117 


A  Dreamer's   Tales 

the  flight  from  Bethmoora,  but  knew  no 
more  than  you  did  what  the  message  was, 
or  who  had  sent  it.  However,  he  said  he 
would  see  Bethmoora  once  more  when- 
ever he  touched  again  at  an  eastern  port, 
even  if  he  had  to  face  the  Devil.  He  often 
said  that  he  would  face  the  Devil  to  find 
out  the  mystery  of  that  message  that 
emptied  Bethmoora  in  a  day.  And  in  the 
end  he  had  to  face  Thuba  Mleen,  whose 
weak  ferocity  he  had  not  imagined.  For 
one  day  the  sailor  told  me  he  had  found  a 
ship,  and  I  met  him  no  more  after  that  in 
the  tavern  drinking  rum.  It  was  about 
that  time  that  I  got  the  hashish  from  the 
gipsy,  who  had  a  quantity  that  he  did  not 
want.  It  takes  one  literally  out  of  oneself. 
It  is  like  wings.  You  swoop  over  distant 
countries  and  into  other  worlds.  Once  I 
found  out  the  secret  of  the  universe.  I 
have  forgotten  what  it  was,  but  I  know 
that  the  Creator  does  not  take  Creation 
seriously,  for  I  remember  that  He  sat  in 
Space  with  all  His  work  in  front  of  Him 
and  laughed.  I  have  seen  incredible  things 
in  fearful  worlds.  As  it  is  your  imagination 
that  takes  you  there,  so  it  is  only  by  your 

118 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

imagination  that  you  can  get  back.  Once 
out  in  sether  I  met  a  battered,  prowling 
spirit,  that  had  belonged  to  a  man  whom 
drugs  had  killed  a  hundred  years  ago;  and 
he  led  me  to  regions  that  I  had  never 
imagined;  and  we  parted  in  anger  beyond 
the  Pleiades,  and  I  could  not  imagine  my 
way  back.  And  I  met  a  huge  grey  shape 
that  was  the  Spirit  of  some  great  people, 
perhaps  of  a  whole  star,  and  I  besought  It 
to  show  me  my  way  home,  and  It  halted 
beside  me  like  a  sudden  wind  and  pointed, 
and,  speaking  quite  softly,  asked  me  if  I 
discerned  a  certain  tiny  light,  and  I  saw 
a  far  star  faintly,  and  then  It  said  to  me, 
'That  is  the  Solar  System,'  and  strode 
tremendously  on.  And  somehow  I  imag- 
ined my  way  back,  and  only  just  in  time, 
for  my  body  was  already  stiffening  in  a 
chair  in  my  room;  and  the  fire  had  gone 
out  and  everything  was  cold,  and  I  had  to 
move  each  finger  one  by  one,  and  there 
were  pins  and  needles  in  them,  and  dread- 
ful pains  in  the  nails,  which  began  to  thaw; 
and  at  last  I  could  move  one  arm,  and 
reached  a  bell,  and  for  a  long  time  no  one 
came,  because  every  one  was  in  bed.  But 
110 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

at  last  a  man  appeared,  and  they  got  a 
doctor;  and  he  said  that  it  was  hashish 
poisoning,  but  it  would  have  been  all 
right  if  I  hadn'  t  met  that  battered,  prowl- 
ing spirit. 

"I  could  tell  you  astounding  things  that 
I  have  seen,  but  you  want  to  know  who 
sent  that  message  to  Bethmoora.  Well,  it 
was  Thuba  Mleen.  And  this  is  how  I 
know.  I  often  went  to  the  city  after  that 
day  that  you  wrote  of  (I  used  to  take  hash- 
ish of  an  evening  in  my  flat),  and  I  always 
found  it  uninhabited.  Sand  had  poured 
into  it  from  the  desert,  and  the  streets  were 
yellow  and  smooth,  and  through  open, 
swinging  doors  the  sand  had  drifted. 

"One  evening  I  had  put  the  guard  in 
front  of  the  fire,  and  settled  into  a  chair 
and  eaten  my  hashish,  and  the  first  thing 
that  I  saw  when  I  came  to  Bethmoora  was 
the  sailor  with  the  black  scar,  strolling 
down  the  street,  and  making  footprints  in 
the  yellow  sand.  And  now  I  knew  that  I 
should  see  what  secret  power  it  was  that 
kept  Bethmoora  uninhabited. 

"I  saw  that  there  was  anger  in  the 
Desert,  for  there  were  storm  clouds  heaving 
120 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

along  the  skyline,  and  I  heard  a  muttering 
amongst  the  sand. 

"The  sailor  strolled  on  down  the  street, 
looking  into  the  empty  houses  as  he  went; 
sometimes  he  shouted  and  sometimes  he 
sang,  and  sometimes  he  wrote  his  name 
on  a  marble  wall.  Then  he  sat  down  on  a 
step  and  ate  his  dinner.  After  a  while  he 
grew  tired  of  the  city,  and  came  back  up 
the  street.  As  he  reached  the  gate  of  green 
copper  three  men  on  camels  appeared. 

"I  could  do  nothing.  I  was  only  a  con- 
sciousness, invisible,  wandering:  my  body 
was  in  Europe.  The  sailor  fought  well 
with  his  fists,  but  he  was  over-powered  and 
bound  with  ropes,  and  led  away  through 
the  Desert. 

"I  followed  for  as  long  as  I  could  stay, 
and  found  that  they  were  going  by  the 
way  of  the  Desert  round  the  Hills  of  Hap 
towards  Utnar  Vehi,  and  then  I  knew 
that  the  camel  men  belonged  to  Thuba 
Mleen. 

"I  work  in  an  insurance  office  all  day, 

and  I  hope  you  won't  forget  me  if  ever 

you  want  to  insure — life,  fire,  or  motor — 

but  that's  no  part  of  my  story.     I  was 

121 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

desperately  anxious  to  get  back  to  my  flat, 
though  it  is  not  good  to  take  hashish  two 
days  running;  but  I  wanted  to  see  what 
they  would  do  to  the  poor  fellow,  for  I  had 
heard  bad  rumours  about  Thuba  Mleen. 
When  at  last  I  got  away  I  had  a  letter  to 
write;  then  I  rang  for  my  servant,  and  told 
him  that  I  must  not  be  disturbed,  though  I 
left  my  door  unlocked  in  case  of  accidents. 
After  that  I  made  up  a  good  fire,  and  sat 
down  and  partook  of  the  pot  of  dreams. 
I  was  going  to  the  palace  of  Thuba 
Mleen. 

"I  was  kept  back  longer  than  usual  by 
noises  in  the  street,  but  suddenly  I  was  up 
above  the  town;  the  European  countries 
rushed  by  beneath  me,  and  there  appeared 
the  thin  white  palace  spires  of  horrible 
Thuba  Mleen.  I  found  him  presently  at 
the  end  of  a  little  narrow  room.  A  curtain 
of  red  leather  hung  behind  him,  on  which 
all  the  names  of  God,  written  in  Yannish, 
were  worked  with  a  golden  thread.  Three 
windows  were  small  and  high.  The  Emperor 
seemed  no  more  than  about  twenty,  and 
looked  small  and  weak.  No  smiles  came 
on  his  nasty  yellow  face,  though  he  tittered 
122 


THUBA  MLBEN 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

continually.  As  I  looked  from  his  low 
forehead  to  his  quivering  under  lip,  I 
became  aware  that  there  was  some  horror 
about  him,  though  I  was  not  able  to  per- 
ceive what  it  was.  And  then  I  saw  it — 
the  man  never  blinked;  and  though  later 
on  I  watched  those  eyes  for  a  blink,  it 
never  happened  once. 

"And  then  I  followed  the  Emperor's 
rapt  glance,  and  I  saw  the  sailor  lying  on 
the  floor,  alive  but  hideously  rent,  and  the 
royal  torturers  were  at  work  all  round  him. 
They  had  torn  long  strips  from  him,  but 
had  not  detached  them,  and  they  were 
torturing  the  ends  of  them  far  away  from 
the  sailor."  The  man  that  I  met  at  dinner 
told  me  many  things  which  I  must  omit. 
"The  sailor  was  groaning  softly,  and  every 
time  he  groaned  Thuba  Mleen  tittered.  I 
had  no  sense  of  smell,  but  I  could  hear  and 
see,  and  I  do  not  know  which  was  the 
most  revolting — the  terrible  condition  of 
the  sailor  or  the  happy  unblinking  face  of 
horrible  Thuba  Mleen. 

"I  wanted  to  go  away,  but  the  time  was 
not  yet  come,  and  I  had  to  stay  where  I 
was. 

123 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

"Suddenly  the  Emperor's  face  began 
to  twitch  violently  and  his  under  lip  quiv- 
ered faster,  and  he  whimpered  with  anger, 
and  cried  with  a  shrill  voice,  in  Yannish, 
to  the  captain  of  his  torturers  that  there 
was  a  spirit  in  the  room.  I  feared  not, 
for  living  men  cannot  lay  hands  on  a  spirit, 
but  all  the  torturers  were  appalled  at  his 
anger,  and  stopped  their  work,  for  their 
hands  trembled  with  fear.  Then  two  men 
of  the  spear-guard  slipped  from  the  room, 
and  each  of  them  brought  back  presently 
a  golden  bowl,  with  knobs  on  it,  full  of 
hashish;  and  the  bowls  were  large  enough 
for  heads  to  have  floated  in  had  they  been 
filled  with  blood.  And  the  two  men  fell 
to  rapidly,  each  eating  with  two  great 
spoons — there  was  enough  in  each  spoon- 
ful to  have  given  dreams  to  a  hundred  men. 
And  there  came  upon  them  soon  the  hashish 
state,  and  their  spirits  hovered,  preparing 
to  go  free,  while  I  feared  horribly,  but  ever 
and  anon  they  fell  back  again  to  the  bodies, 
recalled  by  some  noise  in  the  room.  Still 
the  men  ate,  but  lazily  now,  and  without 
ferocity.  At  last  the  great  spoons  dropped 
out  of  their  hands,  and  their  spirits  rose  and 

124 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

left  them.  I  could  not  flee.  And  the 
spirits  were  more  horrible  than  the  men, 
because  they  were  young  men,  and  not  yet 
wholly  moulded  to  fit  their  fearful  souls. 
Still  the  sailor  groaned  softly,  evoking  little 
titters  from  the  Emperor  Thuba  Mleen. 
Then  the  two  spirits  rushed  at  me,  and 
swept  me  thence  as  gusts  of  wind  sweep 
butterflies,  and  away  we  went  from  that 
small,  pale,  heinous  man.  There  was  no 
escaping  from  these  spirits'  fierce  insistence. 
The  energy  in  my  minute  lump  of  the  drug 
was  overwhelmed  by  the  huge  spoonsful 
that  these  men  had  eaten  with  both  hands. 
I  was  whirled  over  Arvle  Woondery,  and 
brought  to  the  lands  of  Snith,  and  swept 
on  still  until  I  came  to  Kragua,  and  be- 
yond this  to  those  bleak  lands  that  are 
nearly  unknown  to  fancy.  And  we  came 
at  last  to  those  ivory  hills  that  are  named 
the  Mountains  of  Madness,  and  I  tried 
to  struggle  against  the  spirits  of  that  fright- 
ful Emperor's  men,  for  I  heard  on  the 
other  side  of  the  ivory  hills  the  pittering 
of  those  beasts  that  prey  on  the  mad,  as 
they  prowled  up  and  down.  It  was  no  fault 
of  mine  that  my  little  lump  of  hashish 

125 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

could  not  fight  with  their  horrible  spoons- 
ful. .  .  ." 

Some  one  was  tugging  at  the  hall-door 
bell.  Presently  a  servant  came  and  told 
our  host  that  a  policeman  in  the  hall  wished 
to  speak  to  him  at  once.  He  apologised  to 
us,  and  went  outside,  and  we  heard  a  man 
in  heavy  boots,  who  spoke  in  a  low  voice  to 
him.  My  friend  got  up  and  walked  over 
to  the  window,  and  opened  it,  and  looked 
outside.  "I  should  think  it  will  be  a  fine 
night,"  he  said.  Then  he  jumped  out. 
When  we  put  our  astonished  heads  out  of 
the  window  to  look  for  him,  he  was  already 
out  of  sight. 


128 


Poor  Old  Bill 


n  an  antique  haunt  of  sailors, 
a  tavern  of  the  sea,  the  light  of 
day  was  fading.  For  several 
evenings  I  had  frequented 
this  place,  in  the  hope  of  hear- 
ing something  from  the  sailors,  as  they  sat 
over  strange  wines,  about  a  rumor  that  had 
reached  my  ears  of  a  certain  fleet  of  galleons 
of  old  Spain  still  said  to  be  afloat  in  the 
South  Seas  in  some  uncharted  region. 

In  this  I  was  again  to  be  disappointed. 
Talk  was  low  and  seldom,  and  I  was  about 
to  leave,  when  a  sailor,  wearing  ear-rings 
of  pure  gold,  lifted  up  his  head  from  his 
wine,  and  looking  straight  before  him  at 
the  wall,  told  his  tale  loudly: 

(When  later  on  a  storm  of  rain  arose 
and  thundered  on  the  tavern's  leaded  panes, 

127 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

he  raised  his  voice  without  effort  and 
spoke  on  still.  The  darker  it  got  the  clearer 
his  wild  eyes  shone.) 

"A  ship  with  sails  of  the  olden  time  was 
nearing  fantastic  isles.  We  had  never  seen 
such  isles. 

"We  all  hated  the  captain,  and  he  hated 
us.  He  hated  us  all  alike,  there  was  no 
favouritism  about  him.  And  he  never 
would  talk  a  word  with  any  of  us,  except 
sometimes  in  the  evening  when  it  was 
getting  dark  he  would  stop  and  look  up 
and  talk  a  bit  to  the  men  he  had  hanged  at 
the  yard-arm. 

"We  were  a  mutinous  crew.  But  Cap- 
tain was  the  only  man  that  had  pistols. 
He  slept  with  one  under  his  pillow  and 
kept  one  close  beside  him.  There  was  a 
nasty  look  about  the  isles.  They  were 
small  and  flat  as  though  they  had  come 
up  only  recently  from  the  sea,  and  they 
had  no  sand  or  rocks  like  honest  isles,  but 
green  grass  down  to  the  water.  And  there 
were  little  cottages  there  whose  looks  we 
did  not  like.  Their  thatches  came  almost 
down  to  the  ground,  and  were  strangely 
turned  up  at  the  corners,  and  under  the 

128 


LITTLE   COTTAGES    .     .     .    WHOSE   LOOKS  WE   DID   NOT  LIKE 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

low  eaves  were  queer  dark  windows  whose 
little  leaded  panes  were  too  thick  to  see 
through.  And  no  one,  man  or  beast,  was 
walking  about,  so  that  you  could  not  know 
what  kind  of  people  lived  there.  But 
Captain  knew.  And  he  went  ashore  and 
into  one  of  the  cottages,  and  someone  lit 
lights  inside,  and  the  little  windows  wore 
an  evil  look. 

"  It  was  quite  dark  when  he  came  aboard 
again,  and  he  bade  a  cheery  good-night  to 
the  men  that  swung  from  the  yard-arm, 
and  he  eyed  us  in  a  way  that  frightened 
poor  old  Bill. 

"Next  night  we  found  that  he  had 
learned  to  curse,  for  he  came  on  a  lot  of 
us  asleep  in  our  bunks,  and  among  them 
poor  old  Bill,  and  he  pointed  at  us  with  a 
finger,  and  made  a  curse  that  our  souls 
should  stay  all  night  at  the  top  of  the 
masts.  And  suddenly  there  was  the  soul 
of  poor  old  Bill  sitting  like  a  monkey  at 
the  top  of  the  mast,  and  looking  at  the 
stars,  and  freezing  through  and  through. 

"We  got  up  a  little  mutiny  after  that, 
but  Captain  comes  up  and  points  with  his 
finger  again,  and  this  time  poor  old  Bill 

129 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

and  all  the  rest  are  swimming  behind  the 
ship  through  the  cold  green  water,  though 
their  bodies  remain  on  deck. 

"It  was  the  cabin-boy  who  found  out 
that  Captain  couldn't  curse  when  he  was 
drunk,  though  he  could  shoot  as  well  at 
one  time  as  another. 

"After  that  it  was  only  a  matter  of 
waiting,  and  of  losing  two  men  when  the 
time  came.  Some  of  us  were  murderous 
fellows,  and  wanted  to  kill  Captain,  but 
poor  old  Bill  was  for  finding  a  bit  of  an 
island,  out  of  the  track  of  ships,  and  leaving 
him  there  with  his  share  of  our  year's  pro- 
visions. And  everybody  listened  to  poor 
old  Bill,  and  we  decided  to  maroon  Captain 
as  soon  as  we  caught  him  when  he  couldn't 
curse. 

"It  was  three  whole  days  before  Captain 
got  drunk  again,  and  poor  old  Bill  and  all 
had  a  dreadful  time,  for  Captain  invented 
new  curses  every  day,  and  wherever  he 
pointed  his  finger  our  souls  had  to  go;  and 
the  fishes  got  to  know  us,  and  so  did  the 
stars,  and  none  of  them  pitied  us  when  we 
froze  on  the  masts  or  were  hurried  through 
forests  of  seaweed  and  lost  our  way — both 

130 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

stars  and  fishes  went  about  their  businesses 
with  cold,  unastonished  eyes.  Once  when 
the  sun  had  set  and  it  was  twilight,  and  the 
moon  was  showing  clearer  and  clearer  in 
the  sky,  and  we  stopped  our  work  for  a 
moment  because  Captain  seemed  to  be 
looking  away  from  us  at  the  colours  in 
the  sky,  he  suddenly  turned  and  sent  our 
souls  to  the  Moon.  And  it  was  colder 
there  than  ice  at  night;  and  there  were 
horrible  mountains  making  shadows;  and 
it  was  all  as  silent  as  miles  of  tombs;  and 
Earth  was  shining  up  in  the  sky  as  big  as 
the  blade  of  a  scythe,  and  we  all  got  home- 
sick for  it,  but  could  not  speak  nor  cry. 
It  was  quite  dark  when  we  got  back,  and 
we  were  very  respectful  to  Captain  all  the 
next  day,  but  he  cursed  several  of  us  again 
very  soon.  What  we  all  feared  most  was 
that  he  would  curse  our  souls  to  Hell,  and 
none  of  us  mentioned  Hell  above  a  whisper 
for  fear  that  it  should  remind  him.  But 
on  the  third  evening  the  cabin-boy  came  and 
told  us  that  Captain  was  drunk.  And  we 
all  went  to  his  cabin,  and  we  found  him 
lying  there  across  his  bunk,  and  he  shot 
as  he  had  never  shot  before;  but  he  had 

131 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

no  more  then  the  two  pistols,  and  he  would 
only  have  killed  two  men  if  he  hadn't 
caught  Joe  over  the  head  with  the  end  of 
one  of  his  pistols.  And  then  we  tied  him 
up.  And  poor  old  Bill  put  the  rum  be- 
tween Captain's  teeth,  and  kept  him  drunk 
for  two  days,  so  that  he  could  not  curse, 
till  we  found  a  convenient  rock.  And 
before  sunset  of  the  second  day  we  found 
a  nice  bare  island  for  Captain,  out  of  the 
track  of  ships,  about  a  hundred  yards  long 
and  about  eighty  wide;  and  we  rowed  him 
along  to  it  in  a  little  boat,  and  gave  him 
provisions  for  a  year,  the  same  as  we  had 
ourselves,  because  poor  old  Bill  wanted  to 
be  fair.  And  we  left  him  sitting  comfortable 
with  his  back  to  a  rock  singing  a  sailor's 
song. 

"When  we  could  no  longer  hear  Captain 
singing  we  all  grew  very  cheerful  and  made 
a  banquet  out  of  our  year's  provisions,  as 
we  all  hoped  to  be  home  again  in  under 
three  weeks.  We  had  three  great  banquets 
every  day  for  a  week — every  man  had  more 
than  he  could  eat,  and  what  was  left  over 
we  threw  on  the  floor  like  gentlemen.  And 
then  one  day,  as  we  saw  San  Huelgedos, 

132 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

and  wanted  to  sail  in  to  spend  our  money,  the 
wind  changed  round  from  behind  us  and 
beat  us  out  to  sea.  There  was  no  tacking 
against  it,  and  no  getting  into  the  harbor, 
though  other  ships  sailed  by  us  and  an- 
chored there.  Sometimes  a  dead  calm 
would  fall  on  us,  while  fishing  boats  all 
around  us  flew  before  half  a  gale,  and 
sometimes  the  wind  would  beat  us  out  to 
sea  when  nothing  else  was  moving.  All 
day  we  tried,  and  at  night  we  laid  to  and 
tried  again  next  day.  And  all  the  sailors 
of  the  other  ships  were  spending  their 
money  in  San  Huelgedos  and  we  could  not 
come  nigh  it.  Then  we  spoke  horrible 
things  against  the  wind  and  against  San 
Huelgedos,  and  sailed  away. 

"It  was  just  the  same  at  Norenna. 

"We  kept  close  together  now  and  talked 
in  low  voices.  Suddenly  poor  old  Bill 
grew  frightened.  As  we  went  all  along  the 
Siractic  coast-line,  we  tried  again  and 
again,  and  the  wind  was  waiting  for  us  in 
every  harbour  and  sent  us  out  to  sea. 
Even  the  little  islands  would  not  have  us. 
And  then  we  knew  that  there  was  no  land- 
ing yet  for  poor  old  Bill,  and  every  one 

133 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

upbraided  his  kind  heart  that  had  made 
them  maroon  Captain  on  a  rock,  so  as  not 
to  have  his  blood  upon  their  heads.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  drift  about  the 
seas.  There  were  no  banquets  now,  because 
we  feared  that  Captain  might  live  his  year 
and  keep  us  out  to  sea. 

"At  first  we  used  to  hail  all  passing  ships, 
and  used  to  try  to  board  them  in  the  boats; 
but  there  was  no  rowing  against  Captain's 
curse,  and  we  had  to  give  that  up.  So  we 
played  cards  for  a  year  in  Captain's  cabin, 
night  and  day,  storm  and  fine,  and  every 
one  promised  to  pay  poor  old  Bill  when  we 
got  ashore. 

"It  was  horrible  to  us  to  think  what  a 
frugal  man  Captain  really  was,  he  that 
used  to  get  drunk  every  other  day  when- 
ever he  was  at  sea,  and  here  he  was  still 
alive,  and  sober  too,  for  his  curse  still  kept 
us  out  of  every  port,  and  our  provisions 
were  gone. 

"Well,  it  came  to  drawing  lots,  and  Jim 
was  the  unlucky  one.  Jim  only  kept  us 
about  three  days,  and  then  we  drew  lots 
again,  and  this  time  it  was  the  nigger.  The 
nigger  didn't  keep  us  any  longer,  and  we 

134 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

drew  again,  and  this  time  it  was  Charlie, 
and  still  Captain  was  alive. 

"As  we  got  fewer  one  of  us  kept  us  longer. 
Longer  and  longer  a  mate  used  to  last  us, 
and  we  all  wondered  how  ever  Captain  did 
it.  It  was  five  weeks  over  the  year  when, 
we  drew  Mike,  and  he  kept  us  for  a  week, 
and  Captain  was  still  alive.  We  wondered 
he  didn't  get  tired  of  the  same  old  curse; 
but  we  supposed  things  looked  different 
when  one  is  alone  on  an  island. 

"When  there  was  only  Jakes  and  poor 
old  Bill  and  the  cabin-boy  and  Dick,  we 
didn't  draw  any  longer.  We  said  that  the 
cabin-boy  had  had  all  the  luck,  and  he 
mustn't  expect  any  more.  Then  poor  old 
Bill  was  alone  with  Jakes  and  Dick,  and 
Captain  was  still  alive.  When  there  was 
no  more  boy,  and  the  Captain  still  alive, 
Dick,  who  was  a  huge  strong  man  like 
poor  old  Bill,  said  that  it  was  Jakes'  turn, 
and  he  was  very  lucky  to  have  lived  as 
long  as  he  had.  But  poor  old  Bill  talked 
it  all  over  with  Jakes,  and  they  thought  it 
better  that  Dick  should  take  his  turn. 

"Then  there  was  Jakes  and  poor  old 
Bill;  and  Captain  would  not  die. 

135 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

"And  these  two  used  to  watch  one  an- 
other night  and  day,  when  Dick  was  gone 
and  no  one  else  was  left  to  them.  And 
at  last  poor  old  Bill  fell  down  in  a  faint  and 
lay  there  for  an  hour.  Then  Jakes  came 
up  to  him  slowly  with  his  knife,  and  makes 
a  stab  at  poor  old  Bill  as  he  lies  there  on 
the  deck.  And  poor  old  Bill  caught  hold 
of  him  by  the  wrist,  and  put  his  knife  into 
him  twice  to  make  quite  sure,  although  it 
spoiled  the  best  part  of  the  meat.  Then 
poor  old  Bill  was  all  alone  at  sea. 

"And  the  very  next  week,  before  the 
food  gave  out,  Captain  must  have  died  on 
his  bit  of  an  island;  for  poor  old  Bill  heard 
Captain's  soul  going  cursing  over  the  sea, 
and  the  day  after  that  the  ship  was  cast  on 
a  rocky  coast. 

"And  Captain's  been  dead  now  for  over 
a  hundred  years,  and  poor  old  Bill  is  safe 
ashore  again.  But  it  looks  as  if  Captain 
hadn't  done  with  him  yet,  for  poor  old  Bill 
doesn't  ever  get  any  older,  and  somehow  or 
other  he  doesn't  seem  to  die.  Poor  old  Bill!" 

When  this  was  over  the  man's  fascina- 
tion suddenly  snapped,  and  we  all  jumped 
up  and  left  him. 

136 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

It  was  not  only  his  revolting  story,  but 
it  was  the  fearful  look  in  the  eyes  of  the 
man  who  told  it,  and  the  terrible  ease  with 
which  his  voice  surpassed  the  roar  of  the 
rain,  that  decided  me  never  again  to  enter 
that  haunt  of  sailors — the  tavern  of  the 
sea. 


137 


The  Beggars 

was  walking  down  Piccadilly 
»not  long  ago,  thinking  of 
nursery  rhymes  and  regretting 
I  old  romance. 

As  I  saw  the  shopkeepers 
walk  by  in  their  black  frock-coats  and  their 
black  hats,  I  thought  of  the  old  line  in 
nursery  annals,  "The  merchants  of  London, 
they  wear  scarlet." 

The  streets  were  all  so  unromantic,  dreary. 
Nothing  could  be  done  for  them,  I  thought 
— nothing.  And  then  my  thoughts  were 
interrupted  by  barking  dogs.  Every  dog 
in  the  street  seemed  to  be  barking — every 
kind  of  dog,  not  only  the  little  ones  but  the 
big  ones  too.  They  were  all  facing  East 
towards  the  way  I  was  coming  by.  Then 
I  turned  round  to  look  and  had  this  vision, 
in  Piccadilly,  on  the  opposite  side  to  the 
houses  just  after  you  pass  the  cab-rank. 

138 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

Tall  bent  men  were  coming  down  the 
street  arrayed  in  mrvellous  cloaks.  All 
were  sallow  of  skin  and  swarthy  of  hair, 
and  the  most  of  them  wore  strange  beards. 
They  were  coming  slowly,  and  they  walked 
with  staves,  and  their  hands  were  out  for 
alms. 

All  the  beggars  had  come  to  town. 

I  would  have  given  them  a  gold  doubloon 
engraven  with  the  towers  of  Castille,  but 
I  had  no  such  coin.  They  did  not  seem 
the  people  to  whom  it  were  fitting  to  offer 
the  same  coin  as  one  tendered  for  the  use 
of  a  taxicab  (0  marvellous,  ill-made  word, 
surely  the  pass-word  somewhere  of  some 
evil  order).  Some  of  them  wore  purple 
cloaks  with  wide  green  borders,  and  the 
border  of  green  was  a  narrow  strip  with 
some,  and  some  wore  cloaks  of  old  and 
faded  red,  and  some  wore  violet  cloaks,  and 
none  wore  black.  And  they  begged  grace- 
fully, as  gods  might  beg  for  souls. 

I  stood  by  a  lamp-post,  and  they  came 
up  to  it,  and  one  addressed  it,  calling  the 
lamp-post  brother,  and  said,  "0  lamp-post, 
our  brother  of  the  dark,  are  there  many 
wrecks  by  thee  in  the  tides  of  night?  Sleep 

139 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

not,  brother,  sleep  not.  There  were  many 
wrecks  an  it  were  not  for  thee." 

It  was  strange :  I  had  not  thought  of  the 
majesty  of  the  street  lamp  and  his  long 
watching  over  drifting  men.  But  he  was 
not  beneath  the  notice  of  these  cloaked 
strangers. 

And  then  one  murmured  to  the  street: 
"Art  thou  weary,  street?  Yet  a  little  longer 
they  shall  go  up  and  down,  and  keep  thee 
clad  with  tar  and  wooden  bricks.  Be 
patient,  street.  In  a  while  the  earthquake 
cometh." 

"Who  are  you?"  people  said.  "And 
where  do  you  come  from?" 

"Who  may  tell  what  we  are,"  they 
answered,  "or  whence  we  come?" 

And  one  turned  towards  the  smoke- 
stained  houses,  saying,  "Blessed  be  the 
houses,  because  men  dream  therein." 

Then  I  perceived,  what  I  had  never 
thought,  that  all  these  staring  houses  were 
not  alike,  but  different  one  from  another, 
because  they  held  different  dreams. 

And  another  turned  to  a  tree  that  stood 
by  the  Green  Park  railings,  saying,  "Take 
comfort,  tree,  for  the  fields  shall  come  again." 

140 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

And  all  the  while  the  ugly  smoke  went 
upwards,  the  smoke  that  has  stifled  Ro- 
mance and  blackened  the  birds.  This,  I 
thought,  they  can  neither  praise  nor  bless. 
And  when  they  saw  it  they  raised  their 
hands  towards  it,  towards  the  thousand 
chimneys,  saying,  "Behold  the  smoke.  The 
old  coal-forests  that  have  lain  so  long  in 
the  dark,  and  so  long  still,  are  dancing  now 
and  going  back  to  the  sun.  Forget  not 
Earth,  0  our  brother,  and  we  wish  thee 
joy  of  the  sun." 

It  had  rained,  and  a  cheerless  stream 
dropped  down  a  dirty  gutter.  It  had  come 
from  heaps  of  refuse,  foul  and  forgotten; 
it  had  gathered  upon  its  way  things  that 
were  derelict,  and  went  to  sombre  drains 
unknown  to  man  or  the  sun.  It  was  this 
sullen  stream  as  much  as  all  other  causes 
that  had  made  me  say  in  my  heart  that 
the  town  was  vile,  that  Beauty  was  dead  in 
it,  and  Romance  fled. 

Even  this  thing  they  blessed.  And  one 
that  wore  a  purple  cloak  with  broad  green 
border,  said,  "Brother,  be  hopeful  yet,  for 
thou  shalt  surely  come  at  last  to  the  delect- 
able Sea,  and  meet  the  heaving,  huge,  and 

141 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

travelled  ships,  and  rejoice  by  isles  that 
know  the  golden  sun."  Even  thus  they 
blessed  the  gutter,  and  I  felt  no  whim  to 
mock. 

And  the  people  that  went  by,  in  their 
black  unseemly  coats  and  their  misshapen, 
monstrous,  shiny  hats,  the  beggars  also 
blessed.  And  one  of  them  said  to  one  of 
these  dark  citizens:  "0  twin  of  Night  him- 
self, with  thy  specks  of  white  at  wrists  and 
neck  like  to  Night's  scattered  stars.  How 
fearfully  thou  dost  veil  with  black  thy  hid, 
unguessed  desires.  They  are  deep  thoughts 
in  thee  that  they  will  not  frolic  with  colour, 
that  they  say  'No'  to  purple,  and  to  lovely 
green  'Begone/  Thou  hast  wild  fancies 
that  they  must  needs  be  tamed  with  black, 
and  terrible  imaginings  that  they  must  be 
hidden  thus.  Has  thy  soul  dreams  of  the 
angels,  and  of  the  walls  of  faery  that  thou 
has  guarded  it  so  utterly,  lest  it  dazzle 
astonished  eyes?  Even  so  God  hid  the 
diamond  deep  down  in  miles  of  clay. 

The  wonder  of  thee  is  not  marred  by 
mirth. 

Behold  thou  art  very  secret. 

Be  wonderful.     Be  full  of  mystery." 

142 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

Silently  the  man  in  the  black  frock-coat 
passed  on.  And  I  came  to  understand 
when  the  purple  beggar  had  spoken,  that 
the  dark  citizen  had  trafficked  perhaps  with 
Ind,  that  in  his  heart  were  strange  and 
dumb  ambitions:  that  his  dumbness  was 
founded  by  solemn  rite  on  the  roots  of 
ancient  tradition:  that  it  might  be  over- 
come one  day  by  a  cheer  in  the  street  or 
by  some  one  singing  a  song,  and  that  when 
this  shopman  spoke  there  might  come  clefts 
in  the  world  and  people  peering  over  at  the 
abyss. 

Then  turning  towards  Green  Park,  where 
as  yet  Spring  was  not,  the  beggars  stretched 
out  their  hands,  and  looking  at  the  frozen 
grass  and  the  yet  unbudding  trees  they, 
chanting  all  together,  prophesied  daffodils. 

A  motor  omnibus  came  down  the  street, 
nearly  running  over  some  of  the  dogs 
that  were  barking  ferociously  still.  It  was 
sounding  its  horn  noisily. 

And  the  vision  went  then. 


143 


Carcassonne 


In  a  letter  from  a  friend  whom  I  have  never  seen, 
one  of  those  that  read  my  books,  this  line  was 
quoted  —  "But  he,  he  never  came  to  Carcas- 
sonne." I  do  not  know  the  origin  of  the  line, 
but  I  made  this  tale  about  it. 


hen  Camorak  reigned  at  Arn, 
and  the  world  was  fairer,  he 
gave  a  festival  to  all  the 
Weald  to  commemorate  the 
splendour  of  his  youth. 
They  say  that  his  house  at  Am  was 
huge  and  high,  and  its  ceiling  painted  blue; 
and  when  evening  fell  men  would  climb  up 
by  ladders  and  light  the  scores  of  candles 
hanging  from  slender  chains.  And  they 
say,  too,  that  sometimes  a  cloud  would 
come,  and  pour  in  through  the  top  of  one 
of  the  oriel  windows,  and  it  would  come 

144 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

over  the  edge  of  the  stonework  as  the  sea- 
mist  comes  over  a  sheer  cliff's  shaven  lip 
where  an  old  wind  has  blown  for  ever  and 
ever  (he  has  swept  away  thousands  of 
leaves  and  thousands  of  centuries,  they  are 
all  one  to  him,  he  owes  no  allegiance  to 
Time.)  And  the  cloud  would  re-shape  itself 
in  the  hall's  lofty  vault  and  drift  on  through 
it  slowly,  and  out  to  the  sky  again  through 
another  window.  And  from  its  shape  the 
knights  in  Camorak's  hall  would  prohesy 
the  battles  and  sieges  of  the  next  season  of 
war.  They  say  of  the  hall  of  Camorak 
at  Arn  that  there  hath  been  none  like  it 
in  any  land,  and  foretell  that  there  will  be 
never. 

Hither  had  come  in  the  folk  of  the  Weald 
from  sheepfold  and  from  forest,  revolving 
slow  thoughts  of  food,  and  shelter,  and 
love,  and  they  sat  down  wondering  in  that 
famous  hall;  and  therein  also  were  seated 
the  men  of  Arn,  the  town  that  clustered 
round  the  King's  high  house,  and  was  all 
roofed  with  the  red,  maternarearth. 

If  old  songs  may  be  trusted,  it  was  a 
marvellous  hall. 

Many  who  sat  there  could  only  have 

145 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

seen  it  distantly  before,  a  clear  shape  in 
the  landscape,  but  smaller  than  a  hill. 
Now  they  beheld  along  the  wall  the  weapons 
of  Camorak's  men,  of  which  already  the 
lute-players  made  songs,  and  tal  s  were 
told  at  evening  in  the  byres.  There  they 
descried  the  shield  of  Camorak  that  had 
gone  to  and  fro  across  so  many  battles,  and 
the  sharp  but  dinted  edges  of  his  sword; 
there  were  the  weapons  of  Gadriol  the 
Leal,  and  Norn,  and  Athoric  of  the  Sleety 
Sword,  Heriel  the  Wild,  Yarold,  and  Thanga 
of  Esk,  their  arms  hung  evenly  all  round 
the  hall,  low  where  a  man  could  reach  them; 
and  in  the  place  of  honour  in  the  midst, 
between  the  arms  of  Camorak  and  of 
Gadriol  the  Leal,  hung  the  harp  of  Arleon. 
And  of  all  the  weapons  hanging  on  those 
walls  none  were  more  calamitous  to  Cam- 
orak's foes  than  was  the  harp  of  Arleon. 
For  to  a  man  that  goes  up  against  a  strong 
place  on  foot,  pleasant  indeed  is  the  twang 
and  jolt  of  some  fearful  engine  of  war  that 
his  fellow-warriors  are  working  behind  him, 
from  which  huge  rocks  go  sighing  over  his 
head  and  plunge  among  his  foes;  and 
pleasant  to  a  warrior  in  the  wavering  fight 

146 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

are  the  swift  commands  of  his  King,  and  a 
joy  to  him  are  his  comrades'  distant  cheers 
exulting  suddenly  at  a  turn  of  the  war. 
All  this  and  more  was  the  harp  to  Cam- 
orak's  men;  for  not  only  would  it  cheer  his 
warriors  on,  but  many  a  time  would  Arleon 
of  the  Harp  strike  wild  amazement  into 
opposing  hosts  by  some  rapturous  prophecy 
suddenly  shouted  out  while  his  hand  swept 
over  the  roaring  strings.  Moreover,  no 
war  was  ever  declared  till  Camorak  and  his 
men  had  listened  long  to  the  harp,  and  were 
elate  with  the  music  and  mad  against  peace. 
Once  Arleon,  for  the  sake  of  a  rhyme,  had 
made  war  upon  Estabonn;  and  an  evil  king 
was  overthrown,  and  honour  and  glory 
won;  from  such. queer  motives  does  good 
sometimes  accrue. 

Above  the  shields  and  the  harps  all 
round  the  hall  were  the  painted  figures  of 
heroes  of  fabulous  famous  songs.  Too 
trivial,  because  too  easily  surpassed  by 
Camorak's  men,  seemed  all  the  victories 
that  the  earth  had  known;  neither  was  any 
trophy  displayed  of  Camorak's  seventy 
battles,  for  these  were  as  nothing  to  his 
warriors  or  him  compared  with  those 

147 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

things  that  their  youth  had  dreamed 
and  which  they  mightily  purposed  yet 
to  do. 

Above  the  painted  pictures  there  was 
darkness,  for  evening  was  closing  in,  and 
the  candles  swinging  on  their  slender  chain 
were  not  yet  lit  in  the  roof;  it  was  as  though 
a  piece  of  the  night  had  been  builded  in  to 
the  edifice  like  a  huge  natural  rock  that 
juts  into  a  house.  And  there  sat  all  the 
warriors  of  Arn  and  the  Weald-folk  wonder- 
ing at  them;  and  none  were  more  than 
thirty,  and  all  were  skilled  in  war.  And 
Camorack  sat  at  the  head  of  all,  exulting 
in  his  youth. 

We  must  wrestle  with  Time  for  some 
seven  decades,  and  he  is  a  weak  and  puny 
antagonist  in  the  first  three  bouts. 

Now  there  was  present  at  this  feast  a 
diviner,  one  who  knew  the  schemes  of 
Fate,  and  he  sat  among  the  people  of  the 
Weald  and  had  no  place  of  honour,  for 
Camorak  and  his  men  had  no  fear  of  Fate. 
And  when  the  meat  was  eaten  and  the  bones 
cast  aside,  the  king  rose  up  from  his  chair, 
and  having  drunken  wine,  and  being  in  the 
glory  of  his  youth  and  with  all  his  knights 

14S 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

about  him,  called  to  the  diviner,  saying, 
"Prophesy  ." 

And  the  diviner  rose  up,  stroking  his 
grey  beard,  and  spake  guardedly — "There 
are  certain  events,"  he  said,  "upon  the 
ways  of  Fate  that  are  veiled  even  from  a 
diviner's  eyes,  and  many  more  are  clear  to 
us  that  were  better  veiled  from  all;  much  I 
know  that  is  better  unforetold,  and  some 
things  that  I  may  not  foretell  on  pain  of 
centuries  of  punishment.  But  this  I  know 
and  foretell — that  you  will  never  come  to 
Carcassonne." 

Instantly  there  was  a  buzz  of  talk  tell- 
ing of  Carcassonne — some  had  heard  of 
it  in  speech  or  song,  some  had  read  of 
it,  and  some  had  dreamed  of  it.  And 
the  king  sent  Arleon  of  the  Harp  down 
from  his  right  hand  to  mingle  with  the 
Weald-folk  to  hear  aught  that  any  told 
of  Carcassonne.  But  the  warriors  told  of 
the  places  they  had  won  to — many  a  hard- 
held  fortress,  many  a  far-off  land,  and 
swore  that  they  would  come  to  Carcassonne. 

And  in  a  while  came  Arleon  back  to 
the  king's  right  hand,  and  raised  his  harp 
and  chanted  and  told  of  Carcassonne. 

149 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

Far  away  it  was,  and  far  and  far  away, 
a  city  of  gleaming  ramparts  rising  one 
over  other,  and  marble  terraces  behind  the 
ramparts,  and  fountains  shimmering  on  the 
terraces.  To  Carcassonne  the  elf-kings 
with  their  fairies  had  first  retreated  from 
men,  and  had  built  it  on  an  evening  late 
in  May  by  blowing  their  elfin  horns.  Car- 
cassonne! Carcassonne! 

Travellers  had  seen  it  sometimes  like  a 
clear  dream,  with  the  sun  glittering  on  its 
citadel  upon  a  far-off  hill-top,  and  then 
the  clouds  had  come  or  a  sudden  mist; 
no  one  had  seen  it  long  or  come  quite 
close  to  it;  though  once  there  were  some 
men  that  came  very  near,  and  the  smoke 
from  the  houses  blew  into  their  faces,  a 
sudden  gust — no  more,  and  these  declared 
that  some  one  was  burning  cedarwood  there. 
Men  had  dreamed  that  there  is  a  witch 
there,  walking  alone  through  the  cold 
courts  and  corridors  of  marmorean  palaces, 
fearfully  beautiful  still  for  all  her  four- 
score centuries,  singing  the  second  oldest 
song,  which  was  taught  her  by  the  sea, 
shedding  tears  for  loneliness  from  eyes  that 
would  madden  armies,  yet  will  she  not  call 

150 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

her  dragons  home — Carcassonne  is  terribly 
guarded.  Sometimes  she  swims  in  a  marble 
bath  through  whose  deeps  a  river  tumbles, 
or  lies  all  morning  on  the  edge  of  it  to  dry 
slowly  in  the  sun,  and  watches  the  heaving 
river  trouble  the  deeps  of  the  bath.  It 
flows  through  the  caverns  of  earth  for 
further  than  she  knows,  and  coming  to 
light  in  the  witch's  bath  goes  down  through 
the  earth  again  to  its  own  peculiar  sea. 

In  autumn  sometimes  it  comes  down 
black  with  snow  that  spring  has  molten  in 
unimagined  mountains,  or  withered  blooms 
of  mountain  shrubs  go  beautifully  by. 

When  there  is  blood  in  the  bath  she 
knows  there  is  war  in  the  mountains;  and 
yet  she  knows  not  where  those  mountains 
are. 

When  she  sings  the  fountains  dance  up 
from  the  dark  earth,  when  she  combs  her 
hair  they  say  there  are  storms  at  sea,  when 
she  is  angry  the  wolves  grow  brave  and  all 
come  down  to  the  byres,  when  she  is  sad 
the  sea  is  sad,  and  both  are  sad  for  ever. 
Carcassonne!  Carcassonne! 

This  city  is  the  fairest  of  the  wonders 
of  Morning;  the  sun  shouts  when  he  be- 

151 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

holdeth  it;  for  Carcassonne  Evening  weep- 
eth  when  Evening  passeth  away. 

And  Arleon  told  how  many  goodly  perils 
were  round  about  the  city,  and  how  the 
way  was  unknown,  and  it  was  a  knightly 
venture.  Then  all  the  warriors  stood  up 
and  sang  of  the  splendour  of  the  venture. 
And  Camorak  swore  by  the  gods  that  had 
builded  Arn,  and  by  the  honour  of  his 
warriors  that,  alive  or  dead,  he  would  come 
to  Carcassonne. 

But  the  diviner  rose  and  passed  out  of 
the  hall,  brushing  the  crumbs  from  him 
with  his  hands  and  smoothing  his  robe  as 
he  went. 

Then  Camorak  said,  "There  are  many 
things  to  be  planned,  and  counsels  to  be 
taken,  and  provender  to  be  gathered.  Upon 
what  day  shall  we  start?"  And  all  the 
warriors  answering  shouted,  "Now."  And 
Camorak  smiled  thereat,  for  he  had  but 
tried  them.  Down  then  from  the  walls 
they  took  their  weapons,  Sikorix,  Kelleron, 
Aslof,  Wole  of  the  Axe;  Huhenoth,  Peace- 
breaker;  Wolwuf,  Father  of  War;  Tarion, 
Lurth  of  the  War-cry  and  many  another. 
Little  then  dreamed  the  spiders  that  sat 

152 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

in  that  ringing  hall  of  the  unmolested 
leisure  they  were  soon  to  enjoy. 

When  they  were  armed  they  all  formed 
up  and  marched  out  of  the  hall,  and  Arleon 
strode  before  them  singing  of  Carcassonne. 

But  the  folk  of  the  Weald  arose  and 
went  back  well-fed  to  their  byres.  They 
had  no  need  of  wars  or  of  rare  perils.  They 
were  ever  at  war  with  hunger.  A  long 
drought  or  hard  winter  were  to  them 
pitched  battles;  if  the  wolves  entered  a 
sheep-fold  it  was  like  the  loss  of  a  fortress, 
a  thunder-storm  on  the  harvest  was  like 
an  ambuscade.  Well-fed,  they  went  back 
slowly  to  their  byres,  being  at  truce  with 
hunger:  and  the  night  filled  with  stars. 

And  black  against  the  starry  sky  ap- 
peared the  round  helms  of  the  warriors  as 
they  passed  the  tops  of  the  ridges,  but  in 
the  valleys  they  sparkled  now  and  then  as 
the  starlight  flashed  on  steel. 

They  followed  behind  Arleon  going  south, 
whence  rumours  had  always  come  of  Car- 
cassonne: so  they  marched  in  the  starlight, 
and  he  before  them  singing. 

When  they  had  marched  so  far  that  they 
heard  no  sound  from  Arn,  and  even  in- 

153 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

audible  were  her  swinging  bells,  when 
candles  burning  late  far  up  in  towers  no 
longer  sent  them  their  disconsolate  wel- 
come; in  the  midst  of  the  pleasant  night 
that  lulls  the  rural  spaces,  weariness  came 
upon  Arleon  and  his  inspiration  failed.  It 
failed  slowly.  Gradually  he  grew  less  sure 
of  the  way  to  Carcassonne.  Awhile  he 
stopped  to  think,  and  remembered  the  way 
again;  but  his  clear  certainty  was  gone, 
and  in  its  place  were  efforts  in  his  mind  to 
recall  old  prophecies  and  shepherd's  songs 
that  told  of  the  marvellous  city.  Then  as 
he  said  over  carefully  to  himself  a  song 
that  a  wanderer  had  learnt  from  a  goat- 
herd's boy  far  up  the  lower  slope  of  ultimate 
southern  mountains,  fatigue  came  down 
upon  his  toiling  mind  like  snow  on  the 
winding  ways  of  a  city  noisy  by  night, 
stilling  all. 

He  stood,  and  the  warriors  closed  up  to 
him.  For  long  they  had  passed  by  great 
oaks  standing  solitary  here  and  there,  like 
giants  taking  huge  breaths  of  the  night  air 
before  doing  some  furious  deed;  now  they 
had  come  to  the  verge  of  a  black  forest; 
the  tree-trunks  stood  like  those  great  col- 

154 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

limns  in  an  Egyptian  hall  whence  God  in 
an  older  mood  received  the  praise  of  men; 
the  top  of  it  sloped  the  way  of  an  ancient 
wind.  Here  they  all  halted  and  lighted  a 
fire  of  branches,  striking  sparks  from  flint 
into  a  heap  of  bracken.  They  eased  them 
of  their  armour,  and  sat  round  the  fire, 
and  Camorak  stood  up  there  and  addressed 
them,  and  Camorak  said:  "We  go  to  war 
with  Fate,  who  has  doomed  that  I  shall  not 
come  to  Carcassonne.  And  if  we  turn 
aside  but  one  of  the  dooms  of  Fate,  then  the 
whole  future  of  the  world  is  ours,  and  the 
future  that  Fate  has  ordered  is  like  the 
dry  course  of  an  averted  river.  But  if 
such  men  as  we,  such  resolute  conquer- 
ors, cannot  prevent  one  doom  that  Fate 
has  planned,  then  is  the  race  of  man  en- 
slaved for  ever  to  do  its  petty  and  allotted 
task." 

Then  they  all  drew  their  swords,  and 
waved  them  high  in  the  firelight,  and 
declared  war  on  Fate. 

Nothing  in  the  sombre  forest  stirred  or 
made  any  sound. 

Tired  men  do  not  dream  of  war.  When 
morning  came  over  the  gleaming  fields  a 

155 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

company  that  had  set  out  from  Am  dis- 
covered the  camping-place  of  the  warriors, 
and  brought  pavilions  and  provender.  And 
the  warriors  feasted,  and  the  birds  in  the 
forest  sang,  and  the  inspiration  of  Arleon 
awoke. 

Then  they  arose,  and  following  Arleon, 
entered  the  forest,  and  marched  away  to 
the  South.  And  many  a  woman  of  Arn 
sent  her  thoughts  with  them  as  they  played 
alone  some  old  monotonous  tune,  but  their 
own  thoughts  were  far  before  them,  skim- 
ming over  the  bath  through  whose  deeps 
the  river  tumbles  in  marble  Carcassonne. 

When  butterflies  were  dancing  on  the 
air,  and  the  sun  neared  the  zenith,  pavilions 
were  pitched,  and  all  the  warriors  rested; 
and  then  they  feasted  again,  and  then 
played  knightly  games,  and  late  in  the  after- 
noon marched  on  once  more,  singing  of 
Carcassonne. 

And  night  came  down  with  its  mystery 
on  the  forest,  and  gave  their  demoniac 
look  again  to  the  trees,  and  rolled  up  out 
of  misty  hollows  a  huge  and  yellow  moon. 

And  the  men  of  Arn  lit  fires,  and  sudden 
shadows  arose  and  leaped  fantastically 

156 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

away.  And  the  night-wind  blew,  arising 
like  a  ghost,  and  passed  between  the  tree- 
trunks,  and  slipped  down  shimmering 
glades,  and  waked  the  prowling  beasts  still 
dreaming  of  day,  and  drifted  nocturnal  birds 
afield  to  menace  timorous  things,  and  beat 
the  roses  against  cottagers'  panes,  and 
whispered  news  of  the  befriending  night, 
and  wafted  to  the  ears  of  wandering  men 
the  sound  of  a  maiden's  song,  and  gave  a 
glamour  to  the  lutanist's  tune  played  in 
his  loneliness  on  distant  hills;  and  the  deep 
eyes  of  moths  glowed  like  a  galleon's  lamps, 
and  they  spread  their  wings  and  sailed  their 
familiar  sea.  Upon  this  night-wind  also 
the  dreams  of  Camorak's  men  floated  to 
Carcassonne. 

All  the  next  morning  they  marched,  and 
all  the  evening,  and  knew  they  were  near- 
ing  now  the  deeps  of  the  forest.  And  the 
citizens  of  Arn  kept  close  together  and 
close  behind  the  warriors.  For  the  deeps  of 
the  forest  were  all  unknown  to  travellers, 
but  not  unknown  to  those  tales  of  fear 
that  men  tell  at  evening  to  their  friends,  in 
the  comfort  and  the  safety  of  their  hearths. 
Then  night  appeared,  and  an  enormous 

157 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

moon.  And  the  men  of  Camorak  slept. 
Sometimes  they  woke,  and  went  to  sleep 
again;  and  those  that  stayed  awake  for 
long  and  listened  heard  heavy  two-footed 
creatures  pad  through  the  night  on  paws. 

As  soon  as  it  was  light  the  unarmed  men 
of  Am  began  to  slip  away,  and  went  back 
by  bands  through  the  forest.  When  dark- 
ness came  they  did  not  stop  to  sleep,  but 
continued  their  flight  straight  on  until  they 
came  to  Arn,  and  added  there  by  the  tales 
they  told  to  the  terror  of  the  forest. 

But  the  warriors  feasted,  and  afterwards 
Arleon  rose,  and  played  his  harp,  and  led 
them  on  again;  and  a  few  faithful  servants 
stayed  with  them  still.  And  they  marched 
all  day  through  a  gloom  that  was  as  old  as 
night,  but  Arleon's  inspiration  burned  in 
his  mind  like  a  star.  And  he  led  them  till 
the  birds  began  to  drop  into  the  tree-tops, 
and  it  was  evening  and  they  all  encamped. 
They  had  only  one  pavilion  left  to  them 
now,  and  near  it  they  lit  a  fire,  and  Cam- 
orak posted  a  sentry  with  drawn  sword 
just  beyond  the  glow  of  the  firelight.  Some 
of  the  warriors  slept  in  the  pavilion  and 
others  round  about  it. 

158 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

When  dawn  came  something  terrible  had 
killed  and  eaten  the  sentry.  But  the 
splendour  of  the  rumours  of  Carcassonne 
and  Fate's  decree  that  they  should  never 
come  there,  and  the  inspiration  of  Arleon 
and  his  harp,  all  urged  the  warriors  on;  and 
they  marched  deeper  and  deeper  all  day 
into  the  forest. 

Once  they  saw  a  dragon  that  had  caught 
a  bear  and  was  playing  with  it,  letting  it  run 
a  little  way  and  overtaking  it  with  a  paw. 

They  came  at  last  to  a  clear  space  in 
the  forest  just  before  nightfall.  An  odour 
of  flowers  arose  from  it  like  a  mist,  and 
every  drop  of  dew  interpreted  heaven  unto 
itself. 

It  was  the  hour  when  twilight  kisses 
Earth. 

It  was  the  hour  when  a  meaning  comes 
into  senseless  things,  and  trees  out-majesty 
the  pomp  of  monarchs,  and  the  timid 
creatures  steal  abroad  to  feed,  and  as  yet 
the  beasts  of  prey  harmlessly  dream,  and 
Earth  utters  a  sigh,  and  it  is  night. 

In  the  midst  of  the  wide  clearing  Cam- 
orak's  warriors  camped,  and  rejoiced  to  see 
the  stars  again  appearing  one  by  one. 

159 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

That  night  they  ate  the  last  of  their 
provisions,  and  slept  unmolested  by  the 
prowling  things  that  haunt  the  gloom  of 
the  forest. 

On  the  next  day  some  of  the  warriors 
hunted  stags,  and  others  lay  in  rushes  by 
a  neighboring  lake  and  shot  arrows  at 
water-fowl.  One  stag  was  killed,  and  some 
geese,  and  several  teal. 

Here  the  adventurers  stayed,  breathing 
the  pure  wild  air  that  cities  know  not;  by 
day  they  hunted,  and  lit  fires  by  night,  and 
sang  and  feasted,  and  forgot  Carcassonne. 
The  terrible  denizens  of  the  gloom  never 
molested  them,  venison  was  plentiful,  and 
all  manner  of  water-fowl:  they  loved  the 
chase  by  day,  and  by  night  their  favourite 
songs.  Thus  day  after  day  went  by,  thus 
week  after  week.  Time  flung  over  this  en- 
campment a  handful  of  noons,  the  gold  and 
silver  moons  that  waste  the  year  away; 
Autumn  and  Winter  passed,  and  Spring 
appeared;  and  still  the  warriors  hunted 
and  feasted  there. 

One  night  of  the  springtide  they  were 
feasting  about  a  fire  and  telling  tales 
of  the  chase,  and  the  soft  moths  came 

160 


A  Dreamer's   Tales 

out  of  the  dark  and  flaunted  their  col- 
ours in  the  firelight,  and  went  out  grey 
into  the  dark  again;  and  the  night  wind 
was  cool  upon  the  warriors'  necks,  and 
the  camp-fire  was  warm  in  their  faces, 
and  a  silence  had  settled  among  them 
after  some  song,  and  Arleon  all  at  once  rose 
suddenly  up,  remembering  Carcassonne. 
And  his  hand  swept  over  the  strings  of 
his  harp,  awaking  the  deeper  chords,  like 
the  sound  of  a  nimble  people  dancing  their 
steps  on  bronze,  and  the  music  rolled  away 
into  the  night's  own  silence,  and  the  voice 
of  Arleon  rose: 

"When  there  is  blood  in  the  bath  she 
knows  there  is  war  in  the  mountains,  and 
longs  for  the  battle-shout  of  kingly  men." 

And  suddenly  all  shouted,  "Carcassonne !  " 
And  at  that  word  their  idleness  was  gone 
as  a  dream  is  gone  from  a  dreamer  waked 
with  a  shout.  And  soon  the  great  march 
began  that  faltered  no  more  nor  wavered. 
Unchecked  by  battles,  undaunted  in  lone- 
some spaces,  ever  unwearied  by  the  vultur- 
ous years,  the  warriors  of  Camorak  held 
on;  and  Arleon's  inspiration  led  them  still. 
They  cleft  with  the  music  of  Arleon's  harp 

161 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

the  gloom  of  ancient  silences;  they  went 
singing  into  battles  with  terrible  wild  men, 
and  came  out  singing,  but  with  fewer 
voices;  they  came  to  villages  in  valleys  full 
of  the  music  of  bells,  or  saw  the  lights  at 
dusk  of  cottages  sheltering  others. 

They  became  a  proverb  for  wandering, 
and  a  legend  arose  of  strange,  disconsolate 
men.  Folks  spoke  of  them  at  nightfall 
when  the  fire  was  warm  and  rain  slipped 
down  the  eaves;  and  when  the  wind  was 
high  small  children  feared  the  Men  Who 
Would  Not  Rest  were  going  clattering  past. 
Strange  tales  were  told  of  men  in  old  grey 
armour  moving  at  twilight  along  the  tops 
of  the  hills  and  never  asking  shelter;  and 
mothers  told  their  boys  who  grew  impatient 
of  home  that  the  grey  wanderers  were  once 
so  impatient  and  were  now  hopeless  of 
rest,  and  were  driven  along  with  the  rain 
whenever  the  wind  was  angry. 

But  the  wanderers  were  cheered  in  their 
wandering  by  the  hope  of  coming  to  Car- 
cassonne, and  later  on  by  anger  against 
Fate,  and  at  last  they  marched  on  still  be- 
cause it  seemed  better  to  march  on  than 
to  think. 

162 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

For  many  years  they  had  wandered  and 
had  fought  with  many  tribes;  often  they 
gathered  legends  in  villages  and  listened  to 
idle  singers  singing  songs;  and  all  the 
rumours  of  Carcassonne  still  came  from  the 
South. 

And  then  one  day  they  came  to  a  hilly 
land  with  a  legend  in  it  that  only  three 
valleys  away  a  man  might  see,  on  clear 
days,  Carcassonne.  Tired  though  they  were 
and  few,  and  worn  with  the  years  which 
had  all  brought  them  wars,  they  pushed  on 
instantly,  led  still  by  Arleon's  inspiration 
which  dwindled  in  his  age,  though  he  made 
music  with  his  old  harp  still. 

All  day  they  climbed  down  into  the  first 
valley  and  for  two  days  ascended,  and  came 
to  the  Town  That  May  Not  Be  Taken  In 
War  below  the  top  of  the  mountain,  and 
its  gates  were  shut  against  them,  and  there 
was  no  way  round.  To  left  and  right  steep 
precipices  stood  for  as  far  as  eye  could  see 
or  legend  tell  of,  and  the  pass  lay  through 
the  city.  Therefore  Camorak  drew  up  his 
remaining  warriors  in  line  of  battle  to  wage 
their  last  war,  and  they  stepped  forward 
over  the  crisp  bones  of  old,  unburied  armies. 

163 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

No  sentinel  defied  them  in  the  gate,  no 
arrow  flew  from  any  tower  of  war.  One 
citizen  climbed  alone  to  the  mountain's 
top,  and  the  rest  hid  themselves  in  sheltered 
places. 

Now,  in  the  top  of  the  mountain  was 
a  deep,  bowl-like  cavern  in  the  rock,  in 
which  fires  bubbled  softly.  But  if  any  cast 
a  boulder  into  the  fires,  as  it  was  the  custom 
for  one  of  those  citizens  to  do  when  enemies 
approached  them,  the  mountain  hurled  up 
intermittent  rocks  for  three  days,  and  the 
rocks  fell  flaming  all  over  the  town  and  all 
round  about  it.  And  just  as  Camorak's 
men  began  to  batter  the  gate  they  heard  a 
crash  on  the  mountain,  and  a  great  rock  fell 
beyond  them  and  rolled  into  the  valley. 
The  next  two  fell  in  front  of  them  on 
the  iron  roofs  of  the  town.  Just  as  they 
entered  the  town  a  rock  found  them  crowded 
in  a  narrow  street,  and  shattered  two  of 
them.  The  mountain  smoked  and  panted; 
with  every  pant  a  rock  plunged  into  the 
streets  or  bounced  along  the  heavy  iron 
roof,  and  the  smoke  went  slowly  up,  and 
up,  and  up. 

When  they  had  come  through  the  long 

164 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

town's  empty  streets  to  the  locked  gate 
at  the  end,  only  fifteen  were  left.  When 
they  had  broken  down  the  gate  there  were 
only  ten  alive.  Three  more  were  killed 
as  they  went  up  the  slope,  and  two  as  they 
passed  near  the  terrible  cavern.  Fate  let 
the  rest  go  some  way  down  the  mountain 
upon  the  other  side,  and  then  took  three 
of  them.  Camorak  and  Arleon  alone  were 
left  alive.  And  night  came  down  on  the 
valley  to  which  they  had  come,  and  was 
lit  by  flashes  from  the  fatal  mountain;  and 
the  two  mourned  for  their  comrades  all 
night  long. 

But  when  the  morning  came  they  re- 
membered their  war  with  Fate,  and  their 
old  resolve  to  come  to  Carcassonne,  and 
the  voice  of  Arleon  rose  in  a  quavering  song, 
and  snatches  of  music  from  his  old  harp, 
and  he  stood  up  and  marched  with  his  face 
southwards  as  he  had  done  for  years,  and 
behind  him  Camorak  went.  And  when  at 
last  they  climbed  from  the  third  valley, 
and  stood  on  the  hill's  summit  in  the  golden 
sunlight  of  evening,  their  aged  eyes  saw 
only  miles  of  forest  and  the  birds  going 
to  roost. 

165 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

Their  beards  were  white,  and  they  had 
travelled  very  far  and  hard;  it  was  the  time 
with  them  when  a  man  rests  from  labours 
and  dreams  in  light  sleep  of  the  years  that 
were  and  not  of  the  years  to  come. 

Long  they  looked  southwards;  and  the 
sun  set  over  remoter  forests,  and  glow- 
worms lit  their  lamps,  and  the  inspiration 
of  Arleon  rose  and  flew  away  for  ever,  to 
gladden,  perhaps,  the  dreams  of  younger 
men. 

And  Arleon  said:  "My  King,  I  know  no 
longer  the  way  to  Carcassonnne." 

And  Camorak  smiled,  as  the  aged  smile, 
with  little  cause  for  mirth,  and  said:  "The 
years  are  going  by  us  like  huge  birds,  whom 
Doom  and  Destiny  and  the  schemes  of  God 
have  frightened  up  out  of  some  old  grey 
marsh.  And  it  may  well  be  that  against 
these  no  warrior  may  avail,  and  that  Fate 
has  conquerored  us,  and  that  our  quest 
has  failed." 

And  after  this  they  were  silent. 

Then  they  drew  their  swords,  and  side 
by  side  went  down  into  the  forest,  still 
seeking  for  Carcassonne. 

I  think  they  got  not  far;  for  there  were 

166 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

deadly  marshes  in  that  forest,  and  gloom 
that  outlasted  the  nights,  and  fearful  beasts 
accustomed  to  its  ways.  Neither  is  there 
any  legend,  either  in  verse  or  among  the 
songs  of  the  people  of  the  fields,  of  any 
having  come  to  Carcassonne. 


167 


In  Zaccarath 


ome,"said  the  King  in  sacred 
Zaccarath, "  and  let  our  proph- 
ets prophesy  before  us." 

A  far-seen  jewel  of  light  was 
the  holy  palace,  a  wonder  to 


the  nomads  on  the  plains. 

There  was  the  King  with  all  his  under- 
lords,  and  the  lesser  kings  that  did  him 
vassalage,  and  there  were  all  his  queens 
with  all  their  jewels  upon  them. 

Who  shall  tell  of  the  splendour  in  which 
they  sat;  of  the  thousand  lights  and  the 
answering  emeralds;  of  the  dangerous 
beauty  of  that  hoard  of  queens,  or  the 
flash  of  their  laden  necks? 

There  was  a  necklace  there  of  rose-pink 
pearls  beyond  the  art  of  dreamer  to  imagine. 
Who  shall  tell  of  the  amethyst  chandeliers, 

168 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

where  torches,  soaked  in  rare  Bhyrinian  oils, 
burned  and  gave  off  a  scent  of  blethany?1 

Enough  to  say  that  when  the  dawn  came 
up  it  appeared  by  contrast  pallid  and 
unlovely  and  stripped  all  bare  of  its  glory, 
so  that  it  hid  itself  with  rolling  clouds. 

"Come,"  said  the  King,  "let  our  pro- 
phets prophesy." 

Then  the  heralds  stepped  through  the 
ranks  of  the  King's  silk-clad  warriors  who 
lay  oiled  and  scented  upon  velvet  cloaks, 
with  a  pleasant  breeze  among  them  caused 
by  the  fans  of  slaves;  even  their  casting- 
spears  were  set  with  jewels;  through  their 
ranks  the  heralds  went  with  mincing  steps, 
and  came  to  the  prophets,  clad  in  brown  and 
black,  and  one  of  them  they  brought  and 
set  him  before  the  King.  And  the  King 
looked  at  him  and  said,  "Prophesy  unto  us." 

And  the  prophet  lifted  his  head,  so  that 
his  beard  came  clear  from  his  brown  cloak, 

1The  herb  marvellous,  which,  growing  near  the  summit 
of  Mount  Zaumnos,  scents  all  the  Zaumnian  range,  and  is 
smelt  far  out  on  the  Kepuscran  plains,  and  even,  when  the 
wind  is  from  the  mountains,  in  the  streets  of  the  city  of 
Ognoth.  At  night  it  closes  its  petals  and  is  heard  to  breathe, 
and  its  breath  is  a  swift  poison.  This  it  does  even  by  day 
if  the  snows  are  disturbed  about  it.  No  plant  of  this  has 
ever  been  captured  alive  by  a  hunter. 
169 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

and  the  fans  of  the  slaves  that  fanned 
the  warriors  wafted  the  tip  of  it  a 
little  awry.  And  he  spake  to  the  King, 
and  spake  thus: 

"Woe  unto  thee,  King,  and  woe  unto 
Zaccarath.  Woe  unto  thee,  and  woe  unto 
thy  women,  for  your  fall  shall  be  sore  and 
soon.  Already  in  Heaven  the  gods  shun 
thy  god:  they  know  his  doom  and  what  is 
written  of  him :  he  sees  oblivion  before  him 
like  a  mist.  Thou  hast  aroused  the  hate 
of  the  mountaineers.  They  hate  thee  all 
along  the  crags  of  Droom.  The  evilness  of 
thy  days  shall  bring  down  the  Zeedians  on 
thee  as  the  suns  of  springtide  bring  the 
avalanche  down.  They  shall  do  unto  Zac- 
carath as  the  avalanche  doth  unto  the  ham- 
lets of  the  valley."  When  the  queens 
chattered  or  tittered  among  themselves,  he 
merely  raised  his  voice  and  still  spake  on: 
"Woe  to  these  walls  and  the  carven  things 
upon  them.  The  hunter  shall  know  the 
camping-places  of  the  nomads  by  the  marks 
of  the  camp-fires  on  the  plain,  but  he  shall 
not  know  the  place  of  Zaccarath." 

A  few  of  the  recumbent  warriors  turned 
their  heads  to  glance  at  the  prophet  when 

170 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

he  ceased.  Far  overhead  the  echoes  of  his 
voice  hummed  on  awhile  among  the  cedarn 
rafters. 

"Is  he  not  splendid?"  said  the  King. 
And  many  of  that  assembly  beat  with 
their  palms  upon  the  polished  floor  in  token 
of  applause.  Then  the  prophet  was  con- 
ducted back  to  his  place  at  the  far  end 
of  that  mighty  hall,  and  for  a  while  musici- 
ans played  on  marvellous  curved  horns, 
while  drums  throbbed  behind  them  hidden 
in  a  recess.  The  musicians  were  sitting 
cross-legged  on  the  floor,  all  blowing  their 
huge  horns  in  the  brilliant  torchlight,  but 
as  the  drums  throbbed  louder  in  the  dark 
they  arose  and  moved  slowly  nearer  to  the 
King.  Louder  and  louder  drummed  the 
drums  in  the  dark,  and  nearer  and  nearer 
moved  the  men  with  the  horns,  so  that  their 
music  should  not  be  drowned  by  the  drums 
before  it  reached  the  King. 

A  marvellous  scene  it  was  when  the 
tempestuous  horns  were  halted  before  the 
King,  and  the  drums  in  the  dark  were 
like  the  thunder  of  God;  and  the  queens 
were  nodding  their  heads  in  time  to  the 
music,  with  their  diadems  flashing  like 

171 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

heavens  of  falling  stars;  and  the  warriors 
lifted  their  heads  and  shook,  as  they  lifted 
them,  the  plumes  of  those  golden  birds 
which  hunters  wait  for  by  the  Liddian 
lakes,  in  a  whole  lifetime  killing  scarcely 
six,  to  make  the  crests  that  the  warriors 
wore  when  they  feasted  in  Zaccarath.  Then 
the  King  shouted  and  the  warriors  sang — 
almost  they  remembered  then  old  battle- 
chants.  And,  as  they  sang,  the  sound  of 
the  drums  dwindled,  and  the  musicians 
walked  away  backwards,  and  the  drum- 
ming became  fainter  and  fainter  as  they 
walked,  and  altogether  ceased,  and  they 
blew  no  more  on  their  fantastic  horns. 
Then  the  assemblage  beat  on  the  floor  with 
their  palms.  And  afterwards  the  queens 
besought  the  King  to  send  for  another 
prophet.  And  the  heralds  brought  a  singer, 
and  placed  him  before  the  King;  and  the 
singer  was  a  young  man  with  a  harp.  And 
he  swept  the  strings  of  it,  and  when  there 
was  silence  he  sang  of  the  iniquity  of  the 
King.  And  he  foretold  the  onrush  of  the 
Zeedians,  and  the  fall  and  the  forgetting  of 
Zaccarath,  and  the  coming  again  of  the 
desert  to  its  own,  and  the  playing  about  of 

172 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

little  lion  cubs  where  the  courts  of  the 
palace  had  stood. 

"Of  what  is  he  singing?"  said  a  queen  to 
a  queen. 

"He  is  singing  of  everlasting  Zac- 
carath." 

As  the  singer  ceased  the  assemblage  beat 
listlessly  on  the  floor,  and  the  King  nodded 
to  him,  and  he  departed. 

When  all  the  prophets  had  prophesied 
to  them  and  all  the  singers  sung,  that  royal 
company  arose  and  went  to  other  chambers, 
leaving  the  hall  of  festival  to  the  pale  and 
lonely  dawn.  And  alone  were  left  the  lion- 
headed  gods  that  were  carven  out  of  the 
walls;  silent  they  stood,  and  their  rocky 
arms  were  folded.  And  shadows  over  their 
faces  moved  like  curious  thoughts  as  the 
torches  flickered  and  the  dull  dawn  crossed 
the  fields.  And  the  colours  began  to  change 
in  the  chandeliers. 

When  the  last  lutanist  fell  asleep  the 
birds  began  to  sing. 

Never  was  greater  splendour  or  a  more 
famous  hall.  When  the  queens  went  away 
through  the  curtained  door  with  all  their 
diadems,  it  was  as  though  the  stars  should 

173 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

arise  in  their  stations  and  troop  together 
to  the  West  at  sunrise. 

And  only  the  other  day  Oound  a  stone 
that  had  undoubtedly  been  a  part  of  Zac- 
carath,  it  was  three  inches  long  and  an  inch 
broad;  I  saw  the  edge  of  it  uncovered  by 
the  sand.  I  believe  that  only  three  other 
pieces  have  been  found  like  it. 


174 


The  Field 


hen  one  has  seen  Spring's 
blossom  fall  in  London,  and 
Summer  appear  and  ripen  and 
decay,  as  it  does  early  in  cities, 
and  one  is  in  London  still, 
then,  at  some  moment  or  another, the  country 
places  lift  their  flowery  heads  and  call  to 
one  with  an  urgent,  masterful  clearness, 
upland  behind  upland  in  the  twilight  like 
to  some  heavenly  choir  arising  rank  on 
rank  to  call  a  drunkard  from  his  gambling- 
hell.  No  volume  of  traffic  can  drown  the 
sound  of  it,  no  lure  of  London  can  weaken 
its  appeal.  Having  heard  it  one's  fancy  is 
gone,  and  evermore  departed,  to  some 
coloured  pebble  a-gleam  in  a  rural  brook, 
and  all  that  London  can  offer  is  swept  from 
one's  mind  like  some  suddenly  smitten 
metropolitan  Goliath. 
The  call  is  from  afar  both  in  leagues  and 
175 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

years,  for  the  hills  that  call  one  are  the  hills 
that  were,  and  their  voices  are  the  voices 
of  long  ago,  when  the  elf-kings  still  had 
horns. 

I  see  them  now,  those  hills  of  my  infancy 
(for  it  is  they  that  call),  with  their  faces 
upturned  to  the  purple  twilight,  and  the 
faint  diaphanous  figures  of  the  fairies  peer- 
ing out  from  under  the  bracken  to  see  if 
evening  is  come.  I  do  not  see  upon  their 
regal  summits  those  desirable  mansions, 
and  highly  desirable  residences,  which  have 
lately  been  built  for  gentlemen  who  would 
exchange  customers  for  tenants. 

When  the  hills  called  I  used  to  go  to  them 
by  road,  riding  a  bicycle.  If  you  go  by 
train  you  miss  the  gradual  approach,  you 
do  not  cast  off  London  like  an  old  forgiven 
sin,  nor  pass  by  little  villages  on  the  way 
that  must  have  some  rumour  of  the  hills; 
nor,  wondering  if  they  are  still  the  same, 
come  at  last  upon  the  edge  of  their  far- 
spread  robes,  and  so  on  to  their  feet,  and 
see  far  off  their  holy,  welcoming  faces. 
In  the  train  you  see  them  suddenly  round  a 
curve,  and  there  they  all  are  sitting  in  the 
sun. 

176 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

I  imagine  that  as  one  penetrated  out 
from  some  enormous  forest  of  the  tropics, 
the  wild  beasts  would  become  fewer,  the 
gloom  would  lighten,  and  the  horror  of 
the  place  would  slowly  lift.  Yet  as  one 
emerges  nearer  to  the  edge  of  London,  and 
nearer  to  the  beautiful  influence  of  the 
hills,  the  houses  become  uglier,  the  streets 
viler,  the  gloom  deepens,  the  errors  of  civil- 
isation stand  bare  to  the  scorn  of  the  fields. 

Where  ugliness  reaches  the  height  of  its 
luxuriance,  in  the  dense  misery  of  the  place, 
where  one  imagines  the  builder  saying, 
"Here  I  culminate.  Let  us  give  thanks  to 
Satan,"  there  is  a  bridge  of  yellow  brick, 
and  through  it,  as  through  some  gate  of 
filigree  silver  opening  on  fairyland,  one 
passes  into  the  country. 

To  left  and  right,  as  far  as  one  can  see, 
stretches  that  monstrous  city;  before  one 
are  the  fields  like  an  old,  old  song. 

There  is  a  field  there  that  is  full  of  king- 
cups. A  stream  runs  through  it,  and  along 
the  stream  is  a  little  wood  of  oziers.  There 
I  used  often  to  rest  at  the  stream's  edge 
before  my  long  journey  to  the  hills. 

There  I  used  to  forget  London,  street  by 

177 


A  Dr earner's  Tales 

street.     Sometimes  I   picked   a  bunch  of 
king-cups  to  show  them  to  the  hills. 

I  often  came  there.  At  first  I  noticed 
nothing  about  the  field  except  its  beauty 
and  its  peacefulness. 

But  the  second  time  that  I  came  I  thought 
there  was  something  ominous  about  the 
field. 

Down  there  among  the  king-cups  by 
the  little  shallow  stream  I  felt  that  some- 
thing terrible  might  happen  in  just  such  a 
place. 

I  did  not  stay  long  there,  because  I 
thought  that  too  much  time  spent  in  Lon- 
don had  brought  on  these  morbid  fancies 
and  I  went  on  to  the  hills  as  fast  as  I  could. 

I  stayed  for  some  days  in  the  country 
air,  and  when  I  came  back  I  went  to  the 
field  again  to  enjoy  that  peaceful  spot  be- 
fore entering  London.  But  there  was  still 
something  ominous  among  the  oziers. 

A  year  elapsed  before  I  went  there  again. 
I  emerged  from  the  shadow  of  London 
into  the  gleaming  sun,  the  bright  green 
grass  and  the  king-cups  were  flaming  in 
the  light,  and  the  little  stream  was  singing 
a  happy  song.  But  the  moment  I  stepped 

178 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

into  the  field  my  old  uneasiness  returned, 
and  worse  than  before.  It  was  as  though 
the  shadow  was  brooding  there  of  some 
dreadful  future  thing,  and  a  year  had 
brought  it  nearer. 

I  reasoned  that  the  exertion  of  bicycling 
might  be  bad  for  one,  and  that  the  moment 
one  rested  this  uneasiness  might  result. 

A  little  later  I  came  back  past  the  field 
by  night,  and  the  song  of  the  stream  in 
the  hush  attracted  me  down  to  it.  And 
there  the  fancy  came  to  me  that  it  would 
be  a  terribly  cold  place  to  be  in  in  the  star- 
light, if  for  some  reason  one  was  hurt  and 
could  not  get  away. 

I  knew  a  man  who  was  minutely  ac- 
quainted with  the  past  history  of  that  lo- 
cality, and  him  I  asked  if  anything  historical 
had  ever  happened  in  that  field.  When  he 
pressed  me  for  my  reason  in  asking  him 
this,  I  said  that  the  field  had  seemed  to 
me  such  a  good  place  to  hold  a  pageant  in. 
But  he  said  that  nothing  of  any  interest  had 
ever  occurred  there,  nothing  at  all. 

So  it  was  from  the  future  that  the  field's 
trouble  came. 

For  three  years  off  and  on  I  made  visits 

179 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

to  the  field,  and  every  time  more  clearly  it 
boded  evil  things,  and  my  uneasiness  grew 
more  acute  every  time  that  I  was  lured  to 
go  and  rest  among  the  cool  green  grass 
under  the  beautiful  oziers.  Once  to  dis- 
tract my  thoughts  I  tried  to  gauge  how 
fast  the  stream  was  trickling,  but  I  found 
myself  wondering  if  it  flowed  faster  than 
blood. 

I  felt  that  it  would  be  a  terrible  place  to 
go  mad  in,  one  would  hear  voices. 

At  last  I  went  to  a  poet  whom  I  knew, 
and  woke  him  from  huge  dreams,  and  put 
before  him  the  whole  case  of  the  field.  He 
had  not  been  out  of  London  all  that  year, 
and  he  promised  to  come  with  me  and 
look  at  the  field,  and  tell  me  what  was 
going  to  happen  there.  It  was  late  in  July 
when  we  went.  The  pavement,  the  air, 
the  houses  and  the  dirt  had  been  all  baked 
dry  by  the  summer,  the  weary  traffic  drag- 
ged on,  and  on,  and  on,  and  Sleep  spread- 
ing her  wings  soared  up  and  floated  from 
London  and  went  to  walk  beautifully  in 
rural  places. 

When  the  poet  saw  the  field  he  was 
delighted,  the  flowers  were  out  in  masses 

180 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

all  along  the  stream,  he  went  down  to  the 
little  wood  rejoicing.  By  the  side  of  the 
stream  he  stood  and  seemed  very  sad. 
Once  or  twice  he  looked  up  and  down  it 
mournfully,  then  he  bent  and  looked  at  the 
king-cups,  first  one  and  then  another,  very 
closely,  and  shaking  his  head. 

For  a  long  while  he  stood  in  silence,  and 
all  my  old  uneasiness  returned,  and  my 
bodings  for  the  future. 

And  then  I  said  "What  manner  of  field 
is  it?" 

And  he  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"It  is  a  battlefield,"  he  said. 


181 


The  Day  of  the  Poll 


n  the  town  by  the  sea  it  was 
•  the  day  of  the  poll,  and  the 
poet  regarded  it  sadly  when 
he  woke  and  saw  the  light  of  it 
[coming  in  at  his  window  be- 
tween two  small  curtains  of  gauze.  And 
the  day  of  the  poll  was  beautifully  bright; 
stray  bird-songs  came  to  the  poet  at  the 
window;  the  air  was  crisp  and  wintry,  but 
it  was  the  blaze  of  sunlight  that  had  de- 
ceived the  birds.  He  heard  the  sound  of 
the  sea  that  the  moon  led  up  the  shore, 
dragging  the  months  away  over  the  pebbles 
and  shingles  and  piling  them  up  with  the 
years  where  the  worn-out  centuries  lay;  he 
saw  the  rnaj  estic  downs  stand  facing  mightily 
southwards;  he  saw  the  smoke  of  the  town 
float  up  to  their  heavenly  faces — column 
after  column  rose  calmly  into  the  morning 
as  house  by  house  was  waked  by  peering 

182 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

shafts  of  the  sunlight  and  lit  its  fires  for  the 
day;  column  by  column  went  up  toward  the 
serene  downs'  faces,  and  failed  before  they 
came  there  and  hung  all  white  over  houses; 
and  every  one  in  the  town  was  raving  mad. 
It  was  a  strange  thing  that  the  poet  did, 
for  he  hired  the  largest  motor  in  the  town 
and  covered  it  with  all  the  flags  he  could 
find,  and  set  out  to  save  an  intelligence. 
And  he  presently  found  a  man  whose  face 
was  hot,  who  shouted  that  the  time  was  not 
far  distant  when  a  candidate,  whom  he 
named,  would  be  returned  at  the  head  of 
the  poll  by  a  thumping  majority.  And  by 
him  the  poet  stopped  and  offered  him  a  seat 
in  the  motor  that  was  covered  with  flags. 
When  the  man  saw  the  flags  that  were  on 
the  motor,  and  that  it  was  the  largest  in  the 
town,  he  got  in.  He  said  that  his  vote 
should  be  given  for  that  fiscal  system  that 
had  made  us  what  we  are,  in  order  that  the 
poor  man's  food  should  not  be  taxed  to 
make  the  rich  man  richer.  Or  else  it  was 
that  he  would  give  his  vote  for  that  system 
of  tariff  reform  which  should  unite  us  closer 
to  our  colonies  with  ties  that  should  long 
endure,  and  give  employment  to  all.  But 

183 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

it  was  not  to  the  polling-booth  that  that 
motor  went,  it  passed  it  and  left  the  town 
and  came  by  a  small  white  winding  road 
to  the  very  top  of  the  downs.  There  the 
poet  dismissed  the  car  and  led  that  wonder- 
ing voter  on  to  the  grass  and  seated  himself 
on  a  rug.  And  for  long  the  voter  talked 
of  those  imperial  traditions  that  our  fore- 
fathers had  made  for  us  and  which  he  should 
uphold  with  his  vote,  or  else  it  was  of  a 
people  oppressed  by  a  feudal  system  that 
was  out  of  date  and  effete,  and  that  should 
be  ended  or  mended.  But  the  poet  pointed 
out  to  him  small,  distant,  wandering  ships 
on  the  sunlit  strip  of  sea,  and  the  birds  far 
down  below  them,  and  the  houses  below  the 
birds,  with  the  little  columns  of  smoke  that 
could  not  find  the  downs. 

And  at  first  the  voter  cried  for  his  polling- 
booth  like  a  child;  but  after  a  while  he  grew 
calmer,  save  when  faint  bursts  of  cheering 
came  twittering  up  to  the  downs,  when  the 
voter  would  cry  out  bitterly  against  the 
misgovernment  of  the  Radical  party,  or  else 
it  was — I  forget  what  the  poet  told  me — he 
extolled  its  splendid  record. 

"See,"    said    the    poet,    "these    ancient 

184 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

beautiful  things,  the  downs  and  the  old- 
time  houses  and  the  morning,  and  the  grey 
sea  in  the  sunlight  going  mumbling  round 
the  world.  And  this  is  the  place  they  have 
chosen  to  go  mad  in!" 

And  standing  there  with  all  broad  Eng- 
land behind  him,  rolling  northward,  down 
after  down,  and  before  him  the  glittering  sea 
too  far  for  the  sound  of  the  roar  of  it,  there 
seemed  to  the  voter  to  grow  less  important 
the  questions  that  troubled  the  town.  Yet 
he  was  still  angry. 

"Why  did  you  bring  me  here?"  he  said 
again. 

"Because  I  grew  lonely,"  said  the  poet, 
"when  all  the  town  went  mad." 

Then  he  pointed  out  to  the  voter  some 
old  bent  thorns,  and  showed  him  the  way 
that  a  wind  had  blown  for  a  million  years, 
coming  up  at  dawn  from  the  sea;  and  he 
told  him  of  the  storms  that  visit  the  ships, 
and  their  names  and  whence  they  come, 
and  the  currents  they  drive  afield,  and  the 
way  that  the  swallows  go.  And  he  spoke 
of  the  down  where  they  sat,  when  the 
summer  came,  and  the  flowers  that  were 
not  yet,  and  the  different  butterflies,  and 

185 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

about  the  bats  and  the  swifts,  and  the 
thoughts  in  the  heart  of  man.  He  spoke 
of  the  aged  windmill  that  stood  on  the 
down,  and  of  how  to  children  it  seemed 
a  strange  old  man  who  was  only  dead 
by  day.  And  as  he  spoke,  and  as  the 
sea-wind  blew  on  that  high  and  lonely 
place,  there  began  to  slip  away  from  the 
voter's  mind  meaningless  phrases  that  had 
crowded  it  long — thumping  majority  - 
victory  in  the  fight — terminological  in- 
exactitudes— and  the  smell  of  paraffin  lamps 
dangling  in  heated  schoolrooms,  and  quota- 
tions taken  from  ancient  speeches  because 
the  words  were  long.  They  fell  away, 
though  slowly,  and  slowly  the  voter  saw  a 
wider  world  and  the  wonder  of  the  sea. 
And  the  afternoon  wore  on,  and  the  winter 
evening  came,  and  the  night  fell,  and  all 
black  grew  the  sea;  and  about  the  time 
that  the  stars  come  blinking  out  to  look 
upon  our  littleness,  the  polling-booth  closed 
in  the  town. 

When  they  got  back  the  turmoil  was 
on  the  wane  in  the  streets;  night  hid  the 
glare  of  the  posters;  and  the  tide,  finding 
the  noise  abated  and  being  at  the  flow, 

186 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

told  an  old  tale  that  he  had  learned  in 
his  youth  about  the  deeps  of  the  sea,  the 
same  which  he  had  told  to  coastwise  ships 
that  brought  it  to  Babylon  by  the  way  of 
Euphrates  before  the  doom  of  Troy. 

I  blame  my  friend  the  poet,  however 
lonely  he  was,  for  preventing  this  man 
from  registering  his  vote  (the  duty  of  every 
citizen);  but  perhaps  it  matters  less,  as  it 
was  a  foregone  conclusion,  because  the 
losing  candidate,  either  through  poverty  or 
sheer  madness,  had  neglected  to  subscribe 
to  a  single  football  club. 


187 


The  Unhappy  Body 


hy  do  you  not  dance  with  us 
and  rejoice  with  us?"  they 
said  to  a  certain  body.  And 
then  that  body  made  the  con- 
fession of  its  trouble.  It  said : 
"  I  am  united  with  a  fierce  and  violent  soul, 
that  is  altogether  tyrannous  and  will  not 
let  me  rest,  and  he  drags  me  away  from 
the  dances  of  my  kin  to  make  me  toil  at 
his  detestable  work;  and  he  will  not  let 
me  do  the  little  things,  that  would  give 
pleasure  to  the  folk  I  love,  but  only  cares 
to  please  posterity  when  he  has  done  with 
me  and  left  me  to  the  worms;  and  all  the 
while  he  makes  absurd  demands  of  affec- 
tion from  those  that  are  near  to  me,  and  is 
too  proud  even  to  notice  any  less  than  he 
demands,  so  that  those  that  should  be  kind 
to  me  all  hate  me."  And  the  unhappy 
body  burst  into  tears. 

And  they  said:   "No  sensible  body  cares 

188 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

for  its  soul.  A  soul  is  a  little  thing,  and 
should  not  rule  a  body.  You  should  drink 
and  smoke  more  till  he  ceases  to  trouble 
you."  But  the  body  only  wept,  and  said, 
"Mine  is  a  fearful  soul.  I  have  driven  him 
away  for  a  little  while  with  drink.  But  he 
will  soon  come  back.  Oh,  he  will  soon 
come  back!" 

And  the  body  went  to  bed  hoping  to  rest, 
for  it  was  drowsy  with  drink.  But  just 
as  sleep  was  near  it,  it  looked  up,  and  there 
was  its  soul  sitting  on  the  windowsill,  a 
misty  blaze  of  light,  and  looking  into  the 
street. 

"Come,"  said  that  tyrannous  soul,  "and 
look  into  the  street." 

"I  have  need  of  sleep,"  said  the  body. 

"But  the  street  is  a  beautiful  thing," 
the  soul  said  vehemently;  "a  hundred  of 
the  people  are  dreaming  there." 

"I  am  ill  through  want  of  rest,"  the  body 
said. 

"That  does  not  matter,"  the  soul  said 
to  it.  "There  are  millions  like  you  in  the 
earth,  and  millions  more  to  go  there.  The 
people's  dreams  are  wandering  afield;  they 
pass  the  seas  and  the  mountains  of  faery, 

189 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

threading  the  intricate  passes  led  by  their 
souls;  they  come  to  golden  temples  a-ring 
with  a  thousand  bells;  they  pass  up  steep 
streets  lit  by  paper  lanterns,  where  the 
doors  are  green  and  small;  they  know  their 
way  to  witches'  chambers  and  castles  of 
enchantment;  they  know  the  spell  that 
brings  them  to  the  causeway  along  the 
ivory  mountains — on  one  side  looking  down- 
ward they  behold  the  fields  of  their  youth 
and  on  the  other  lie  the  radiant  plains  of 
the  future.  Arise  and  write  down  what 
the  people  dream." 

"What  reward  is  there  for  me,"  said  the 
body,  "if  I  write  down  what  you  bid  me?" 

"There  is  no  reward,"  said  the  soul. 

"Then  I  shall  sleep,"  said  the  body. 

And  the  soul  began  to  hum  an  idle  song 
sung  by  a  young  man  in  a  fabulous  land 
as  he  passed  a  golden  city  (where  fiery 
sentinels  stood),  and  knew  that  his  wife 
was  within  it,  though  as  yet  but  a  little 
child,  and  knew  by  prophecy  that  furious 
wars,  not  yet  arisen  in  far  and  unknown 
mountains,  should  roll  above  him  with  their 
dust  and  thirst  before  he  ever  came  to  that 
city  again — the  young  man  sang  it  as  he 

190 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

passed  the  gate,  and  was  now  dead  with 
his  wife  a  thousand  years. 

"I  cannot  sleep  for  that  abominable 
song,"  the  body  cried  to  the  soul. 

"Then  do  as  you  are  commanded,"  the 
soul  replied.  And  wearily  the  body  took  a 
pen  again.  Then  the  soul  spoke  merrily  as 
he  looked  through  the  window.  "There  is 
a  mountain  lifting  sheer  above  London, 
part  crystal  and  part  mist.  Thither  the 
dreamers  go  when  the  sound  of  the  traffic 
has  fallen.  At  first  they  scarcely  dream 
because  of  the  roar  of  it,  but  before  mid- 
night it  stops,  and  turns,  and  ebbs  with  all 
its  wrecks.  Then  the  dreamers  arise  and 
scale  the  shimmering  mountain,  and  at  its 
summit  find  the  galleons  of  dream.  Thence 
some  sail  East,  some  West,  some  into  the 
Past  and  some  into  the  Future,  for  the 
galleons  sail  over  the  years  as  well  as  over 
the  spaces,  but  mostly  they  head  for  the 
Past  and  the  olden  harbours,  for  thither 
the  sighs  of  men  are  mostly  turned,  and  the 
dream-ships  go  before  them,  as  the  mer- 
chantmen before  the  continual  trade-winds 
go  down  the  African  coast.  I  see  the  gal- 
leons even  now  raise  anchor  after  anchor; 

191 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

the  stars  flash  by  them;  they  slip  out  of 
the  night;  their  prows  go  gleaming  into 
the  twilight  of  memory,  and  night  soon  lies 
far  off,  a  black  cloud  hanging  low,  and 
faintly  spangled  with  stars,  like  the  harbour 
and  shore  of  some  low-lying  land  seen 
afar  with  its  harbour  lights." 

Dream  after  dream  that  soul  related  as 
he  sat  there  by  the  window.  He  told  of 
tropical  forests  seen  by  unhappy  men  who 
could  not  escape  from  London,  and  never 
would — forests  made  suddenly  wondrous  by 
the  song  of  some  passing  bird  flying  to 
unknown  eeries  and  singing  an  unknown 
song.  He  saw  the  old  men  lightly  dancing 
to  the  tune  of  elfin  pipes — beautiful  dances 
with  fantastic  maidens — all  night  on  moon- 
lit imaginary  mountains;  he  heard  far  off 
the  music  of  glittering  Springs;  he  saw  the 
fairness  of  blossoms  of  apple  and  may 
thirty  years  fallen;  he  heard  old  voices — 
old  tears  came  glistening  back;  Romance 
sat  cloked  and  crowned  upon  southern  hills, 
and  the  soul  knew  him. 

One  by  one  he  told  the  dreams  of  all 
that  slept  in  that  street.  Sometimes  he 
stopped  to  revile  the  body  because  it  worked 

192 


A  Dreamer's  Tales 

badly  and  slowly.  Its  chill  fingers  wrote  as 
fast  as  they  could,  but  the  soul  cared  not 
for  that.  And  so  the  night  wore  on  till  the 
soul  heard  tinkling  in  Oriental  skies  far 
footfalls  of  the  morning. 

"See  now,"  said  the  soul,  "the  dawn 
that  the  dreamers  dread.  The  sails  of  light 
are  paling  on  those  unwreckable  galleons; 
the  mariners  that  steer  them  slip  back  into 
fable  and  myth;  that  other  sea  the  traffic 
is  turning  now  at  its  ebb,  and  is  about  to 
hide  its  pallid  wrecks,  and  to  come  swinging 
back,  with  its  tumult,  at  the  flow.  Already 
the  sunlight  flashes  in  the  gulfs  behind  the 
east  of  the  world;  the  gods  have  seen  it 
from  their  palace  of  twilight  that  they 
built  above  the  sunrise;  they  warm  their 
hands  at  its  glow  as  it  streams  through 
their  gleaming  arches,  before  it  reaches  the 
world;  all  the  gods  are  there  that  have 
ever  been,  and  all  the  gods  that  shall  be; 
they  sit  there  in  the  morning,  chanting 
and  praising  Man." 

"I  am  numb  and  very  cold  for  want  of 
sleep,"  said  the  body. 

"You  shall  have  centuries  of  sleep," 
said  the  soul,  "but  you  must  not  sleep 

193 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


A     000  045  536    o 


